Sins of the Fathers
by cmar
Summary: PRTF: There's been a murder in Silver Hills. The ghosts of Eric's past have come back to haunt him, while Wes tries to protect his father and Detective Scotts faces the challenge of her first big case. Part 5 'Time' Series. Complete.
1. Scene of the Crime

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

This story is much darker and more adult than my previous ones, I'm not kidding with the PG-13. 

Takes place after the events of 'Time Over', in my AU version of Time Force. You don't need to have read the previous stories, but it helps, especially to explain how Jen got to stay in 2003. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Scene of the Crime

* * *

"I wish you wore a uniform. That would be hot." 

Wes Collins grinned, leaning against the headboard of his bed. Their bed. He was watching Jen get dressed for work, admiring the way the morning sun slanting in the windows of his large bedroom outlined the curves of her body and glinted off her shoulder-length brown hair as she buttoned up her blouse. After three months, he still felt a thrill every morning when he woke to find her there beside him, knowing she wouldn't have to leave in a few days or weeks, knowing they could have a future together, without limits. 

She turned to throw him a smile. "I know what you mean. That Guardian uniform really does something for you." 

He jumped up and went to her. "Care to back that statement up with some action?" He swiped at her backside. 

"Wes! Cut it out!" She glared, but ruined the effect with a giggle. He laughed and grabbed at her again. "I'm serious, Wes. Stop it. I'll be late for work." 

"Oh, all right." He grinned and sat on the bed again. "Officer Jennifer Scotts. Sounds strange." 

"That's Detective Scotts, now." 

"Right. Sorry." Wes smiled again. Jen had made detective only a few days before, after a quick training period in the Silver Hills Police Department. It was amazing how fast she had been hired and promoted, considering she had no job history -- in this time period. Wes's father, Alan Collins, had a lot of connections, and a lot of money. He had managed to come up with all the records and papers necessary for Jen to start her new life in 2003. Wes suspected his father had also pulled a few strings to get her career moving so quickly, but didn't want to ask. 

"Scotts. We hardly ever use our family names, in my time -- in the future. Feels strange to hear it all the time. But I'm getting used to it." 

"I still wish you had joined the Guardians instead. We could have worked together." 

"Working together and living together? It might not have been a good idea. Besides -- you know I want to do this on my own." 

Wes nodded. They had discussed the situation at length. She could have joined the Silver Guardians, Bio-Lab's elite security force, and worked with Wes and his partner, Eric Myers. Wes's father was Bio-Lab's CEO and owner. He would have been happy to hire her. But there were two large problems involved. 

Jen was a natural leader and had already worked with both Wes and Eric as equals, in fact Jen had been in charge of the original team of Power Rangers that she and Wes had been a part of. The Guardians already had two commanders, and there was no room for another one. The SHPD offered more opportunity. Perhaps more important, Jen wanted to make a career of her own, apart from Wes and his father. He knew she had found it disturbing to be so completely dependant on them when she suddenly was stranded in this time, two hundred years in the past, from her point of view. Jen was nothing if not fiercely independent, it was one of the things Wes liked about her. 

Jen had come from the year 2200. It was only three months ago that she had become a permanent part of 2003, after several shifts in the timeline had somehow integrated her into her own past. Wes knew she had wanted this, to stay with him, and make a life together, but he still worried about her. Adjusting to a new home, a new job, and new friends would be hard on anyone. It must be even worse to try to fit into a different time, too, and to know you could never return. 

"You ever miss it?" he asked. "Your own time?" 

Jen gave him a long glance. "Of course. I miss the people... but I'm happy here." 

"I hope so." He tried to lighten the mood again. "I guess this time seems awfully tame to you. No evil mutants." 

She laughed. "I don't miss that part. There's plenty of evil humans here, just like in my time." 

"Lucky for you, or you'd be out of a job." 

"Lucky for you, too." 

"And we hardly ever need to morph. Do you miss it?" 

"We should be glad we're not needed as Power Rangers. It can get pretty nerve-wracking, having to save the world every other week. I'm happy just to be an ordinary cop." 

"There's nothing ordinary about you." Wes smiled, glancing at the morpher on his wrist, and the one on hers. They might not need the powers and weapons the morphers gave them, as Rangers, but the two of them -- and Eric -- still wore them. You never knew what might happen. 

She picked up her bag, now completely dressed. "Well, I'm ready. You leaving?" 

"Yeah. Can't be late, Dad might fire me." He followed her through the door and took her hand as they descended the wide, curved stairway to the marble-floored, antique-decorated foyer of the house they shared with his father. 

Outside, he glanced up at the wide blue sky and around at the expanse of lawn and shrubbery as they walked through the small flower garden in front of the house. It was another beautiful day. He pulled Jen into his arms for a goodbye kiss, then waved as she got into the car they had given her. He climbed into his own car a moment later and followed her down the long driveway and out to the main road. 

* * *

"Eric, stop it… mmmff…" Gaby's voice was cut off as Eric kissed her, squeezing her tightly and then letting go, backing away with a grin. He sat on the side of the bed in her small, cluttered bedroom and watched her give him a disapproving look and then a smile. "You're going to make me late. Again," she said, and returned her attention to her clothing, starting to tuck in her shirt. 

"I'm not stopping you." He got up and moved closer again, his fingers reaching to start undoing her buttons, then straying to more interesting targets. She lightly slapped his hands away, laughing. "You're going to be late, too," she informed him. 

He smiled. It still surprised him, how comfortable he felt in this place, with her. How much more comfortable his own house seemed when she was there. Comfort was not something that came easily to Eric. The way she teased him might have been annoying from anyone else except maybe Wes, but from her... it relaxed some of the tension and anger he so often felt, despite how well his life had been going lately. 

"_I'm_ already dressed," he said. 

"Well. Let's see if we can do something about that." With a predatory gleam, she came closer, slipping her arms around him, and pulled at the equipment harness of the navy blue uniform he wore as co-commander of the Silver Guardians. He pushed it back into place as she brought her hands between them and began to unbuckle his belt. He laughed and grasped her wrists. 

"Oh, Eric, I'd do _anything_ for a man in uniform!" she sighed theatrically. Her voice dropped as she added, "And even more for a man in spandex." 

"I may hold you to that. And it's not spandex. It's some future stuff." 

"Who cares? Your ass still looks great in it," she said, twisting her hands free and sliding them around his hips to grab that part of his anatomy and pull him against her. 

"Hey! Cut it out!" 

"Yes sir, Mr. Myers, sir!" 

"That's Commander Myers." 

"Excuse me, _Commander_ Myers." She did it again. "Ha! Don't like it so much when _I_ do it, do you?" 

"I like it a little _too_ much… I'm going to be in no condition to show up at work." He hugged her again and bent his head to kiss her neck, then straightened and stepped back reluctantly. "We really have to go. I have to meet with Steve." 

"Oh, but it's okay for _me_ to be late..." She fastened her buttons again, smiled, and stuck her tongue out at him. 

"Put that away unless you're going to use it," he said with another grin. She laughed. 

They were in Gabriella Butler's small apartment, cluttered with books, electronics, comics, and clothing left carelessly lying about. Eric wondered again why he liked being here so much, when he normally disliked having anything out of place. He cast a last glance around as they left, out of habit, checking that everything was secure and in order. Except for Gaby's usual untidiness, it was. 

They paused in the street in front of her apartment building. Eric squinted up at the morning sun. It was going to be another beautiful California day. He turned to Gaby, giving her a quick kiss. 

"I'll see you at work." 

"Yeah. See you." After another smile, she walked to her car and got in. 

He got into his own car, watching as she pulled out, wondering if he should have asked her to come to his house that night. They had fallen into the habit of spending three or four nights a week together, and he hesitated to make it more frequent, to let her expect to see him every night. And maybe she wouldn't want to anyway. Briefly he wondered what _he_ wanted, and had to admit he missed her on the nights they were apart. 

It was too soon, they had only been dating for a few months, still getting used to each other. It was an adjustment, sometimes a difficult one for Eric, who had been a loner all his adult life. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of being close friends with Wes, being treated almost as a part of the Collins family, as he had been for over a year. It was even harder to adjust to being in a romantic relationship, with its greater rewards and greater dangers. 

* * *

It was lunchtime, the sun high. Jen frowned up at the sky. She was standing with her partner, Jimmy Duran, in front of a very unwholesome-looking hotel, in one of the less reputable parts of Silver Hills. The building had once been nice, as the neighborhood had once been desirable, many years ago. Now it was old, and showed the signs of neglect. Jimmy looked up at it and sighed. 

"What a way to start out, huh?" he asked. 

She looked at him, seeing nervousness under his usual imperturbable attitude. Jimmy Duran was a nice-looking man, medium height with black hair, expressive brown eyes and olive skin, not much older than she was, in his mid-thirties, but a senior detective. Her years of experience with the Time Force police had prepared her for this job, but officially she was a rookie here. Jimmy had been working with her for most of her three months on the job. He was training her, and had proved so far to be capable, friendly, and likable. Jen considered herself lucky to be teamed with him. 

"Yes. Nothing like a nice murder to brighten up my day." 

They had gotten the call only fifteen minutes before. A woman found dead, a man with her, passed out. Her first real case, her first chance to prove herself, prove that she wasn't just the girlfriend of rich and powerful Alan Collins' son, prove that she deserved the opportunity she had been given. Her career, her reputation, could be riding on this. Jen knew Jimmy was concerned for her sake. She tried not to show her own nervousness, and hoped it would be simple. They usually were. It sounded straightforward. A fight, probably fueled by alcohol or drugs, in a seedy no-tell motel. Him versus her. She lost. 

"Well, let's go." 

They headed inside, not speaking, both looking around at the run-down lobby with eyes trained to pick up anything out of place. They got suspicious stares from many of the people standing inside, the kind of people who always seemed to be able to spot a cop. After a quick elevator ride, they were in a dingy hallway already cluttered with uniformed police -- and one Silver Guardian. 

"Steve? What are you doing here?" Jen asked. 

Steve Miller was Wes and Eric's second in command. For over a year the Guardians had been doing a great deal of work with SHPD, as consultants and extra manpower, sometimes even handling cases on their own. It had been a great help to the city after a series of attacks by mutants from Jen's time had left it devastated and in financial trouble. Now it was proving beneficial to Bio-Lab and the Guardians too, enhancing their reputation, expanding their resources, making them more valuable to their private, paying customers. 

However... they rarely got involved in major crimes unless invited in for some particular reason. Miller's presence so soon after a crime had been discovered meant something unusual was going on. 

"Jen. I'm glad you're here." Miller took her arm and led her toward an open room door. They paused just outside. "I'm not sure what's going on. He's in bad shape." 

"Who?" 

"No one told you?" He sighed when she shook her head. "Get ready for a shock." 

With a puzzled and apprehensive look at his face, Jen stepped through the doorway. She stopped, staring, feeling dizzy for a moment, sickened by what she saw. 

* * *

"Eric!" 

Eric stopped at the sound of Wes's voice, his face softening slightly into a smile as his friend joined him in the hallway outside his office at Guardians headquarters, in one of the Bio-Lab buildings. 

"How's it going?" Wes asked. 

"Fine. You?" 

"Great." They started to walk together. 

"How's Jen?" 

"She's great. Got that promotion. She's a detective now." 

"I know. I've got some connections at the PD. And you only told me a few dozen times." 

Wes laughed. "Can't help it. I'm proud of her." 

"So she's still settling in okay?" 

"Yeah. Seems to be." 

Eric glanced at him, seeing concern under Wes's usual easy smile. "It can't be an easy adjustment for her. Especially now, trying to get a career going." 

"I know. I guess she gets homesick sometimes. I just hope she's happy here." 

"This is what she wanted. To be with you." 

Wes sighed. "Yeah. In a way, she gave up her whole world for me. It's a big responsibility." 

They stopped outside Wes's office as Eric laid a reassuring hand on Wes's shoulder. "If anyone can make her happy, you can. You sure love her enough." 

"Yeah." Wes gave him a sharp glance. "How's it going with Gaby?" 

"Fine. Great, even." 

"She hasn't found out what a creep you are yet?" Wes asked with a grin. 

"Not yet." 

"I'm glad it's working out. She's good for you." 

Eric snorted faintly, with a smile. "Yeah, she makes fun of me non-stop." 

"That's what I mean. You need someone to lighten you up." 

"_You_ do a pretty good job." 

Wes grinned. "Want to grab some lunch?" 

"Sure." 

"Hold on." Wes paused as his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his jacket and answered. "Collins." 

Eric watched the brief conversation with curiosity and concern. When Wes hung up he was no longer smiling. 

"That was Jen. Something's wrong. Won't tell me on the phone." 

* * *

"Oh my God." Wes stood in the hotel room doorway, feeling his stomach drop away. A moment later it was back, making him glad he hadn't had lunch. He started into the room, only to be stopped by Jen and Miller, each firmly holding one of his arms. 

"Don't touch anything, and don't get too close," Jen murmured. "You, Eric, and Steve are here only as a favor. Don't try to interfere." 

"They'll be transporting him to the hospital soon. You can see him there," Miller added. 

Wes nodded numbly. His father, Alan Collins, lay on the bed in that shabby room decorated with cheap furniture and nondescript paintings. He was jacketless, his shirt unbuttoned, semiconscious and mumbling incoherently. His face was scratched, streaks of blood across it. A team of paramedics was bent over him; and a few officers stood around him and the other occupant of the room, or what was left of her. 

A woman lay on the threadbare carpeting in the middle of the room, arms and legs sprawled awkwardly, eyes open and fixed, face discolored, throat bruised, blood visible under her head. The first glance had told Wes she had been strangled, probably after a blow to the head. Her hair was platinum blonde with dark roots, her clothing overly tight and revealing, her blouse ripped open. Wes put her age at around forty, and revised the estimate upward a few years when he stepped a little closer. Her face still held considerable beauty under a layer of makeup, but showed signs of the abuse of alcohol and perhaps other drugs. 

Eric stepped into the room with them and paused in the doorway. Wes saw him look at Collins, then stop abruptly, staring at the woman. Eric stepped closer to her, stood looking down, and then knelt beside her. Wes absently recognized one of the men near her as Frank Kelly, a competent police detective they had worked with several times before. 

"What happened?" Wes asked. 

Miller answered him. "The PD got an anonymous call to 911, reporting a loud argument and a woman screaming. This is what they found. Your father is..." He glanced at Wes uncomfortably. "He seems to be drunk. Unable to tell us what happened." 

"Do you have any idea what he's doing here?" Jen asked. 

"No. Why would he come to a place like this?" Wes glanced again at the woman. "I'll never believe he was... involved with someone like _her_..." 

"Hey! Wait, you can't touch her!" At the exclamation from Kelly, they turned back to the body to see Eric reaching out, his hand brushing the victim's hair, catching a few strands between his fingers. 

"Eric, what is it? Do you see anything?" Wes asked. 

"No." Eric pulled his hand back slowly and stood up. 

A stretcher arrived, and they all watched silently as Collins was lifted onto it. Wes moved closer. 

"Dad? Can you hear me?" 

Collins looked up, his eyes focusing blurrily on Wes's face. "Wesley?" His voice was slurred and weak. 

"I'm right here, Dad." Wes took one of his hands, squeezing it gently. 

"What going on?" 

"I was hoping _you_ could tell us... Don't worry, Dad. The doctors will take care of you." Collins looked around, his eyes stopping at the woman's body. 

The little procession of stretcher, paramedics, and a couple of officers started to move. Wes walked with them for a few steps. 

"Wes..." Collins said. "What... what happened?" 

"We're trying to find out. I'll see you at the hospital, Dad. Everything's going to be fine." Wes released his hand and watched them go. He turned to Jen and Miller. "I have to go. Steve, stay here and see what you can find out." 

"Of course." 

"Jen... Dad couldn't have had anything to do with this..." 

"I'm sure you're right. But it's my job to find out the truth, and I can't eliminate any possibility." She took his hand, her face anxious. Wes paused to look around the room again. 

Jimmy had been doing a preliminary search. They saw him bend to retrieve a woman's handbag from a corner of the floor, where it looked like it had been thrown. His gloved hands opened it. 

"I've got an ID here," he announced. "Lily White." 

Miller snorted. "Lily White. Right." 

Jimmy had found more. "A business card. 'Peak Escorts'. I guess she's exactly what she looks like." 

"A little old for it," Kelly commented. 

"Yeah." 

"That's not her real name," Eric said, his voice expressionless. He was still standing in the same spot, looking down. 

"No shit," Miller said. 

"Her name's Pamela Myers. Or it was when I knew her." 

"Myers?" Wes said faintly, after a pause. All of them stared at Eric. Wes looked at the woman again, noticing her rather square jaw, the strength of her features. 

Eric's square, hard, strong face turned to them, his expression rigidly blank. "Yeah. She's -- she _was_ -- my mother." 

* * *


	2. Investigation

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review, I'm a feedback junkie. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Investigation

* * *

The hospital room was quiet, except for the soft sounds of machinery. Wes sat by his father's bedside, waiting, his thoughts inevitably returning to that dreary hotel, so different from this white, sterile room. Again, he wondered what could possibly have taken his father there, how he could possibly be connected to Eric's mother. 

His eyes rested on his father's face, washed clean of blood now, and almost peaceful in sleep, before he stole a glance at the third occupant of the room. Eric sat in another chair, his face as blank, controlled, and expressionless as it had been when he identified the dead woman as his mother. His dark, Asian eyes suddenly moved up to meet Wes's. 

"Don't look at me like that." There was an undercurrent of hostility in his voice. 

"Eric... God, I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

"That was your mother back there. She's... dead." 

Eric looked back at Collins' still face. "My mother walked out on me twenty years ago. Why should I care what happened to her now?" 

"But -- she was your mother, for Christsake." 

"So what? She gave birth to me. But that was pretty much where it ended." Eric got to his feet and walked to the window. "She never protected me from that asshole she was married to. My 'dad'. She never even tried to stop him from hitting me. After he took off and my grandmother died, she dressed me up, told me to take my favorite toy... and she took me to a bus station and left me there. Said she'd be right back. I never saw her again until today. She left me for strangers to take care of. Why should I give more of a shit about her than she did about me?" His voice had risen in anger. 

"Eric, please... you'll wake Dad up. I don't want him upset." 

Eric looked back at the bed, some of the antagonism fading from his face. "Sorry." 

"It's okay. I understand." Wes watched him turn back to the window. "Still, you have to feel _something_..." 

"No, I don't." The hostility was back in his voice. "I want to help solve this case to help you, and Alan -- your dad. But as far as I'm concerned, she's just another dead hooker." 

Wes blinked, taking a moment to answer. "Okay. If that's the way you want it." 

"That's the way it is." He moved restlessly toward the door. "Look, if you don't mind, I'll go down to the stationhouse. See what Jen and Jimmy have come up with." 

"Sure. Let me know." 

"It'll be okay. You'll see." Wes looked up to see Eric's face holding compassion, before it faded back to controlled blankness. 

He smiled. "Thanks. And..." 

"What?" 

Wes looked away uncomfortably. "Nothing. Just... if you need to talk, I'm here." 

"Thanks. But there's nothing to talk about." In another moment he was through the door and gone. 

Wes stared after him. Eric talked tough, but Wes knew it wasn't real, it was his defense against a world that had treated him badly, sometimes brutally. And he remembered the way Eric had reached out to touch his mother's hair. He felt something, under the anger. Wes only hoped he could face those emotions, and deal with them. 

"Wes?" 

He turned to the bed, realizing the sound of their voices, or the door closing, had awakened his father. "Dad," he said. "How are you feeling?" 

"Not too good... where is this? The hospital?" 

"Yeah. The doctor said you'll be fine." 

"What happened?" 

Wes hesitated. "The police found you in a hotel room. Passed out. Do you remember how you got there?" 

"I..." Collins stopped, raising a hand to his head. "I got a call yesterday. Board member at Atkinson. Wanted to meet." 

Wes listened in silence. Atkinson Labs was another pharmaceuticals manufacturer, smaller and more specialized than Bio-Lab, but with valuable assets. Bio-Lab was in the process of acquiring it, or trying to. The negotiations were proving to be tricky. It was important, Collins -- and Wes and Eric -- felt it could give Bio-Lab the boost it needed to complete its recovery from the mutant attacks of two years before. It occurred to him that this incident might derail the deal for good. 

"He said it had to be in secret -- didn't want anyone to know -- made me promise not to tell anyone. Set it up for the bar in the Wells hotel..." 

"The hotel where we found you. Why there?" 

"He said no one we know would be there to see us." 

Wes half-smiled. "That's for sure." 

"We met. Talked. He kept stalling." 

"Did you have anything to drink?" 

"Yes. I had coffee..." 

"You smelled of alcohol." 

"I didn't drink anything like that..." 

"Then what happened?" 

"Don't know. That's all I remember, just bits and pieces, until now." 

Wes looked at him, thinking. Much as he tried to keep an open mind, there was no way he could believe his father had gone to a run-down hotel, gotten drunk, met a hooker, and murdered her. He had to be telling the truth. Which meant he had been set up. 

"Wes... what happened? I think I saw a woman..." 

"She was found in the room with you, Dad." He hesitated. "She's dead. Murdered." 

"Oh my God." 

"Yeah. Are you sure you don't remember anything else? Anything at all?" 

Collins' face contracted slightly. "A few vague images -- nothing clear. Walking through a hallway. Voices, arguing." 

"A man and a woman?" 

"No. Two men. Don't remember seeing them." Collins stared up at him, licking his lips. "Am I a suspect?" 

"Not to me, Dad." 

"Thanks, son. But the police suspect me, don't they?" 

"It'll be okay." Wes paused, looking down. "There's something else. I guess I should tell you now." 

"What?" 

"That woman." Wes sighed. "She was Eric's mother." 

"_What_?" 

"She abandoned him twenty years ago. Now she showed up here." 

Collins watched him for a few seconds. "Eric's mother... does he know?" 

"He's the one who identified her." 

"God. How's he taking it?" 

"Not too well." Wes smiled grimly. "Claims he doesn't feel anything. Won't even talk about it. You know how he is." 

"Yes. And I know something about how he grew up." At Wes's inquiring look, he smiled. "I had Eric investigated when I made him commander of the Guardians. He's had a rough life, but he's come a long way. Really worked hard to make something of himself. I admire him for it. I hope this doesn't set him back." 

Wes glanced at the door, remembering Eric's words, and his face. "I wouldn't bet on it." 

* * *

Anger. That was all he felt. Vaguely he wondered why there was nothing else. Why he didn't feel at least a little grief, just this cold, boiling anger. She had been his mother, he had the uncomfortable feeling that his lack of grief was unnatural. But if anything had been unnatural, it was her, she hadn't been a real mother at all. 

Those last months. He didn't want to think about them, didn't want to remember. Another stab of anger went through him. This was all _her_ fault, what the hell was she doing here, reminding him, when he had put it all behind him? Only it wasn't really behind him, was it, some inner voice mocked, certainly not now. He could still see her face, and _his_... 

Eric had been only nine years old. They had lived in a run-down little house in a small town in northern California. Anyone casually driving by would have assumed it was abandoned, with its untended lawn, peeling paint, general air of neglect. And the house hadn't been the only thing that was neglected. 

The images, the sounds, came back to him. His father, sitting in a chair in the kitchen, staring at him with cold eyes. Angry, the way he usually was. Calling to him. 

"Come here, brat." 

"No, daddy!" 

"I said come here, you little bastard!" 

Having no choice, he went. His father seized his arm in a hard grip. He saw his mother frown, and then look away, taking another sip from the glass she always had in her hand. 

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?" 

"Yes." 

"So why are you making noise?" 

"I was just playing." 

"Well, shut up. Play somewhere else. No one wants you around here." He pushed Eric roughly away. 

In the living room, he sat down and tried to play again, but the raised voices from the kitchen distracted him. He started to talk to himself, to drown them out, but remembered that it would only get him in trouble again, and maybe get him a slap, or worse, this time. He was quiet, and tried not to listen, humming softly under his breath. 

"I wish you'd leave the kid alone, Denny. Maybe he'd be quiet if you weren't always making him cry." 

"He's _your_ brat, Pam. Just keep him out of my way." 

"Me? He's your problem as much as mine." 

"Like hell he is. He didn't get those slanty eyes from _me_." 

"Can't you ever shut up about that?" 

"Why should I? I only married you because I thought you were going to have _my_ kid! But you didn't think it would be so easy for me to tell he wasn't mine, did you?" 

"I made a mistake! How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" 

"Some mistake. And more than one. How many guys could it have been, Pammy? A dozen? A hundred? Screwing around is the only thing you're good at." 

"Shut up." The sound of her footsteps. 

"That's right, bitch. Have another drink. That's the other thing you do really well. Getting loaded." 

"If it bothers you so much, why do you stick around?" 

"Good question. Maybe I won't be around much longer. Why should I help you raise that brat?" 

"Like you're any help." 

"What the hell is he doing in there?" 

Eric stopped humming abruptly, realizing he had gotten louder as he tried not to hear what they were saying. A moment later his father was crossing the room, face enraged, to grab his arm and yank him to his feet. 

"Shut up! Shut up!" A hard hand cracked across his face... 

Eric deliberately relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the heat in his face, almost feeling the sting of those slaps again, after twenty years. His hands clenched once more as the old feelings washed through him, the helpless anger, the fear, the pain. The knowledge that both his parents considered him to be no more than an unwanted nuisance, something to be punished into invisibility, or stepped on, like a bug... 

He pushed all of it out of his mind, forced it into the same small corner it had been in for all of his adult life. He knew, if he let it out, if he let it take over, even for a second, it would tear him apart, it would somehow make him into that frightened little boy again, or let out all the rage that lurked inside him until there would be nothing of _him_ left. It could destroy him forever. He held on to the anger, keeping it strong, but under control. It was all that kept the rest of it back. 

* * *

"Are you sure you can handle this case, Jen?" 

Jen stared at Jimmy indignantly. "You don't think I can be impartial? I would never let my personal feelings interfere, especially when a murder's involved." She glanced around at the tiled walls of the small, bare interrogation room at the stationhouse where they had retreated to find a little privacy. 

Miller had returned to Bio-Lab, but Eric had appeared a few minutes before and joined them. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, nervously. She had come to feel comfortable around him, and to like him more than she had expected to, although she still sensed the anger that always seemed to lie just beneath his surface. He did seem to have mellowed since the time of her mission here, in 2001, perhaps because of Wes's continued influence, perhaps because of his more recent relationship with Gaby. Now -- the hard, impenetrable mask was back, worse than ever. Not that she could blame him, under the circumstances. 

"You're living in our prime suspect's house. You're friendly with him, you see him every day, you have dinner with him every night, for Christsake. And you're in love with his son," Jimmy went on. "How can you be impartial?" 

"I can handle it." 

"Okay, for now, but I'll have to discuss it with Lieutenant Quinn. The same thing goes for you, Eric. You work for Collins, and... it _was_ your mother who was killed." 

"That makes no difference." 

"I think it does." 

"Damn it, are you questioning my judgment?" Eric's face suddenly sparked with rage. Jen tensed. In the time he had been her partner, Jimmy had struck up an unlikely friendship with Eric. She had the feeling this situation would test it. 

"No. But... be reasonable, Eric. Please. You know I'm right." 

Eric subsided, a muscle jumping in his jaw, his whole body betraying tension, but making an obvious effort to contain it. "I'm all right with this. At least let me sit in. I want to know what's going on." 

"We'll have to talk about certain things -- things about your mother. I don't think you want to hear some of it." 

Eric's mouth curved in a cold, humorless smile. "I have no illusions about my mother. This is just another case. It won't bother me." 

Jimmy considered him for a moment. "All right. For now." 

"Good. Thanks." He relaxed a little, his face blanking again. 

"Okay. Want me to bring you up to date?" Jimmy went on when they both nodded. "Preliminary exam shows the victim was hit on the head, then strangled. No surprise there." 

"Was she conscious after the blow to the head?" Jen asked. 

"Nothing definite yet, but she may have been awake enough to scratch Collins' face, if that's what you're after. We're testing the scrapings from under her nails." 

They both nodded. It was a standard piece of investigation. "Anything else you can tell us?" Eric asked. 

"The crime scene unit is still going over the room. We traced the call to 911. It came from a pay phone on the street. We're lifting fingerprints from the phone and the coins in it." 

"A pay phone. Probably a hotel guest who didn't want to get involved. Or was covering something up." 

"I know. We're looking into it." He paused, giving Eric an uncomfortable look. "We have more information about your... the victim, from the San Francisco PD. She lived there, ran the escort service whose card she was carrying. She had several girls working for her, she didn't -- er -- do the work herself, at least not often." 

"So the question is, what was she doing here?" Jen said. She also looked at Eric, seeing that muscle in his jaw jump again. 

"Yeah. That's about all, at this point." Jimmy faced them both with a sympathetic smile. "I know you're worried, that this means a lot to both of you. I won't rest until we know the truth." 

"Thanks, Jimmy," she said gratefully. 

"Yeah, thanks," Eric added, with apparent sincerity, but no real warmth. He got up restlessly and started for the door. "If that's all you've got for now, I'm going to get going. Keep in touch." 

Jen got up too, followed him to the door and called his name. He stopped in the doorway and turned to look at her. "Are you all right?" she asked. 

His face was as hard as she remembered ever seeing it. "Sure. Why shouldn't I be?" 

Her brows contracted as she moved closer. "You know why. You must be upset." 

"I'm not upset." 

"Eric... don't try to be so damn brave." 

Something flickered behind his eyes, whether anger or pain she couldn't quite tell. He sighed. "Look, I've already been through this with Wes. I haven't seen my mother for twenty years. She doesn't mean anything to me, except as a murder victim. I want to solve the case, and prove Mr. Collins is innocent. Other than that..." He shot her a cold look. "I don't give a shit." He turned, and stepped out. 

She watched him walk away, his back stiff and straight. "Do you believe that guy?" Jimmy asked softly behind her. 

"Not for a second." 

* * *


	3. Identification

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Feedback is always appreciated, please review. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Identification

* * *

Wes looked up at the sky as he got out of the limo. He saw clear blue laced with fluffy clouds over the Collins house, the breeze carrying scent from the flower garden. It was another beautiful day, just like yesterday morning, and yet nothing was the same. He turned to take his father's arm, helping him step out of the car. 

"You don't have to help me, I'm not an invalid," Collins said grumpily. 

"Now you know how I felt the times you brought me home from the hospital, and you and Philips fussed over me." 

"And this is revenge?" 

Wes grinned. "Something like that." 

On the other side of the car, Eric got out and waited for them silently. Wes gave him an uncomfortable glance. He had been distant and withdrawn all morning, not that anyone could blame him. He followed them as they entered the house. 

"Wes," Collins said quietly as they walked through the foyer. "Did you get that file I asked for?" 

"Yes. It's in your study." Wes resisted the impulse to look at Eric again. 

"Eric, would you mind waiting for us in the living room?" Collins said. "I want to talk to you, but I need to check something first." 

"Okay." There was a sharp edge of curiosity, or perhaps suspicion, in Eric's eyes, but he didn't protest. 

In the study, Collins sank into his chair with a sigh of relief and a smile. "Good to be home," he said, then sat up, his face becoming serious. "Where is it?" 

"In your desk. I thought it should be locked up." In another few seconds, the large desk was unlocked, a file folder found and its contents spread out, several typewritten pages and a few photographs. 

"Wes, did you read this?" 

"No. I don't like the idea of looking at it now." 

"Very ethical of you." He looked slightly amused. "But… there's something in here I have to see." 

"You still haven't told me what this is all about. Why you need to see Eric's file." Wes frowned. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with the knowledge that his father had had Eric investigated two years before, although he knew it had been a practical precaution at the time. Command of the Silver Guardians was an important position, and Eric had been new to Bio-Lab. A background check had been inevitable and necessary. 

"Does Eric know you did this?" Wes asked. 

"The people I used are very discreet, and they did an excellent job. But Eric's not a fool. He probably suspects." Collins shuffled through the papers. "They really got into this case..." He looked up at Wes. "How much did Eric tell you about his childhood?" 

Wes shrugged uncomfortably. "His father used to hit him. Then he took off. Mother abandoned him. After that he grew up in foster homes and orphanages." 

"That's the basics, I guess. My people tracked the parents down. They were both in San Francisco, as of two years ago. Divorced, not living together, but associating. The father had been in and out of jail a few times for various things. The mother was running a -- well -- an 'escort' service." 

"You didn't tell Eric?" 

Collins sighed. "No. He seemed to have put the past behind him, and I didn't want to stir anything up. If he really wanted to find them, he probably could have done it himself." 

"So... why are we looking at this now?" 

His father looked down. He had pulled two photographs from the papers. "The man I met at the hotel. I thought there was something familiar about him. When you told me about Eric's mother..." 

He pushed them over. One Wes recognized as the dead woman, but with dark hair and a smile that made her quite beautiful. The other was a picture of a middle-aged man. He would have been good-looking if not for an angry expression that looked permanent, and the signs of poor health. His hair was light brown, his eyes pale blue. 

"Eric's parents?" Wes asked. 

"Yes." Collins smiled without warmth. "Obviously, the father wasn't Eric's biological father." 

"I know." Both of the people in the pictures were white, while Eric was part Asian. 

"This is the man from the hotel. The man who called me, and met me at the bar. Dennis Myers. Eric's father." 

"Shit! Are you sure?" 

"Of course I'm sure." 

"Damn." Wes turned away, taking a moment to think. Unfortunately, it didn't help. He faced his father again. "They must have been working together -- but why? What did they want? What happened? How did she end up dead?" 

"I wish I knew." 

"Dad -- do you have any idea at all?" 

"No." 

"If you're holding anything back... this is no time to hide things." 

"Wes, I have a lot at stake here. And I don't like seeing Eric get hurt any more than you do. I'm not hiding anything, believe me." 

Wes stared at him for a few seconds, seeing his eyes steady, his face sincere. While he knew his father was a hard-headed, practical man, not above shading his ethics when necessary, he was also basically honest, and definitely not the type to be mixed up in anything really wrong. "Sorry, Dad. I had to ask." 

Collins smiled. "I know. Now -- the question is, do we tell Eric?" 

"I don't think we have a choice. We have to tell the police, and he'll find out sooner or later." 

"Yes. Better he hears it from us." 

* * *

Eric stared at the picture, hardly hearing what Wes and Mr. Collins were saying. The face was older, the hair graying, but it was him, the man who had terrorized him for years, the face he still saw occasionally in his dreams. He felt the old fear again, as if it had been minutes, instead of twenty years, as if he was still a child facing a monster, afraid for his life... 

It had been a beautiful day, just like today. Eric had been banished outside, after his attempts to fly like an airplane -- with the necessary running around at top speed -- had knocked a glass off the kitchen table and broken it. He ignored the sting of the slap his father had given him; he was used to it, and had already learned to put the scared, angry feelings away in a corner. 

It was more fun outside, anyway, more room to run in the overgrown grass, and he didn't have to be so careful to stay out of the way and not make noise. In the small, cluttered back yard he could climb on the old dining room chair that had been left outside, and from there onto the tree that stood in the middle, with a branch that stuck out almost horizontally several feet above the ground. It was a small branch, but perfect for sitting, and even better for jumping as far as he could, pretending he was Superman for those few moments before he hit the ground. 

Eric soared, fell, hit, and rolled to his feet, running in a circle around the yard, gleefully jumping over the occasional discarded tire, plank of wood, or piece of furniture. The junk lying around only made it more fun, it was like an obstacle course. He was an unusually athletic and energetic child, which made it all the more difficult for him to avoid annoying his parents. 

It happened the fifth time he climbed out on the tree limb. Maybe he went too far from the trunk, maybe he moved too fast, or bounced, or maybe the branch was already weakening. There was a loud crack, it fell away under him, and he tumbled to the ground, landing painfully, flat on his back. He lay, stunned, for a few seconds before struggling to a sitting position. 

"What the _hell_ did you do now?" Eric froze at the shout, and looked up to see his father in the doorway, already headed his way, looking even angrier than usual. 

"It broke, Daddy!" 

"I can see that! What did you do to it?" 

"Nothing! It was an accident!" 

"You were climbing on it again, weren't you? After I told you not to!" 

"Yes..." He could feel the tears coming, and tried to stop them. Dad didn't like crying. 

"You little bastard! Can't you go five minutes without breaking something?" A hand grabbed Eric's arm, hurting, and yanked him up, almost off his feet. "Now that bastard landlord is probably going to charge me for this! Already costs me a fortune to feed you, you little piece of shit!" A slap struck his face, then another and another, the hand clamping on his arm, twisting it until the pain brought tears to his eyes. Myers' face glared down, terrifying him with the intensity of rage and hatred blazing from it. 

"No! Let go!" With desperate strength, Eric tried to twist free, then turned his head and bit his father's fingers. He fell to the ground as Myers let go with a cry of pain and fury. The next moment he was looking up, seeing his father bend to pick up the broken branch and lift it over his head, pure murder in his face... 

"Eric? Are you all right?" 

Eric blinked, his mind returning abruptly to Alan Collins' quiet, comfortable study, in the suburbs of Silver Hills, miles and years from that ugly, dismal back yard. He put the photograph down and looked away. 

"Sure. I'm fine." But he wasn't. His heart was pounding, almost as hard as it had when he thought his father was going to kill him. Myers had raised the branch, had seemed about to bring it down, but Eric's scream of terror had seemed to stop him, and he had dropped it and walked away without a word. When Eric had dared to go in again, hours later when it got dark, and he got hungry, he had gotten a glare of smoldering anger, but no more violence. His arm had been bruised and painful for weeks. That had been far from the only time his father had hurt him, but it had been the worst, the most frightening. 

"Did you hear what I said?" 

"Yeah. My father is the man you met at the hotel. The one who told you some story about a problem with Atkinson. You had a cup of coffee with him. He probably drugged you." He raised his eyes to look out the window, avoiding their concerned faces. 

"Yes. Eric, I hope you're not angry that I had you investigated." 

"No. I expected it. I would have done the same thing." 

"And that I didn't tell you I knew where your parents were." 

"No. Why should I have cared?" 

There was silence. Eric looked at them again. They were both staring at him with sympathy, with pity, the kind of expression that only reminded him of the things he had worked so hard to forget. He felt a surge of irrational anger and clamped it down. 

"If you don't need me here, I'm heading back to work," he muttered, and started for the door, not even waiting for a response. 

* * *

Bio-Lab. He walked toward his office, the same hallways he walked almost every day. Today it looked different somehow, the lights too harsh, the sounds too loud, the voices too cheerful. It felt unreal, like another world, one he didn't belong in. He took a deep breath. _Keep it away, keep it away. Don't let it get to you..._

He stopped in front of Gaby's office door. He almost always stopped here, to look in on her and say hello, make plans for the next time they would get together. And today was just another day, except for Mr. Collins' situation. He felt the urge to follow his normal routine, to cling to it, it made it easier to convince himself nothing was wrong. 

After a light tap, he opened the door. For a moment he just looked as she glanced up and smiled, his heart constricting unexpectedly at the sight of her face, the warmth in her eyes. Suddenly, in his mind, she seemed to be part of that different reality, the world of normal people, the one Wes and Mr. Collins lived in, a world he was forever shut out of. 

"Eric? Why don't you come in?" She was staring at him, smile fading, starting to look puzzled. 

He stepped in and came closer to the desk. "Just came by to say hello." 

"Hello." She smiled again before her expression became serious. "I heard about Mr. Collins on the news, being found with that dead woman. It's terrible." 

"Yeah." 

"Poor Wes. He must feel awful." 

"Yeah. He does." 

"And you must be worried." 

"Yeah." 

She examined his face. "You look really upset." 

"I'm fine." 

"Well... if you've got time, do you want to come over tonight? Or I can come to your house. Whatever you want." 

He turned his eyes from her anxious gaze. "I can pick you up for dinner. Come back to your place." 

"Good." There was a pause. "Is something wrong? Something else?" 

He looked back at her face. He had to tell her, before she heard about it from someone else. And it wasn't as if he cared about it, not really. The concern in her face was vaguely irritating, but it also warmed him in some basic way. 

"That woman who was found dead with Mr. Collins. She was my mother. My father's in town, too. Or he was. He's involved in her death, somehow." He stopped as she stared at him, eyes wide with shock. 

"Oh God, Eric... your mother?" 

He stared at the floor, silently. 

"I can't believe it..." she went on. "I'm so sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry about. It's got nothing to do with me." 

"Nothing to do with you..." she said faintly, after a moment. "But..." 

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, cutting her off. "Look, I'll see you tonight, okay? I -- I have to go." He closed the door behind him, before she could say anything more, before he had to look at the shock and sympathy in her face any longer. 

* * *

Jen crossed her arms and frowned. She was in the stationhouse, in Lieutenant Quinn's office, discussing her 'situation'. In reality, discussing whether she would be allowed to continue on the Collins murder case. She stared at Quinn, a deceptively mild-looking middle-aged man who had his usual bland smile on his face. Unfortunately, she knew the friendly expression masked a no-nonsense attitude and a will of iron. 

"Jen, you're lucky to be here at all," he said. "I don't like the fact that you're so close to the Collins family. It's bound to affect you." 

"I want to work this case. It won't be a problem." 

"I think it is." He hesitated. "I think you need to do something about it, if you're serious about staying on the case." 

"What do you mean? What can I do?" 

Another hesitation. "I think you should distance yourself from them." 

"Distance myself? How?" 

"It would help if you move out for the duration." 

Jen stared at him. "Move out. How's that going to change anything?" 

"I think it would make things look better to the public for one thing, show that you're aware of the problem, and trying to do something about it. Show that you're not financially dependant on them." He watched her for a moment. "Think how it looks. Alan Collins is rich and probably the most powerful man in Silver Hills. Now he's suspected of murdering a prostitute, and who do we have working the case? A woman who lives in his house, is involved with his son, and owes her job to him." 

Jen avoided his gaze uncomfortably. "And you think my moving out would help?" 

"Yes, I do. And it could make things easier for you. You wouldn't have to talk to them every day, watch them trying to deal with this. Have Wes trying to convince you of his father's innocence." 

She frowned. "He wouldn't try to convince me. Wes is too professional for that." 

"No one's that professional when it comes to family." 

"I don't know. I don't like the idea of leaving Wes when he needs me." 

"That's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about. We need you to do your job. Your loyalty to the Collins's can only interfere. You're going to have to make a choice." 

Jen sighed, feeling a moment of uncertainty and depression. "I guess I know what you mean. But... I don't know. Do I have to decide right now?" 

There was genuine compassion in his smile now. "Not right now. But think about it. And think hard." 

"Okay. I will." 

A few minutes later she was at Jimmy's desk, listening to him discuss the case with Frank Kelly. Frank was assisting, in fact he had asked to be involved. It was a high-profile case, one that the big shots wanted resolved as soon as possible, and they could use the help. And yet, she felt what she recognized as resentment, especially as it occurred to her that Frank might be taking her place soon, not just assisting. Firmly suppressing her feelings, she smiled as he returned her gaze. 

"Sorry about butting in like this, Jen," he said with an answering smile. 

"We probably should be thanking you." 

"Maybe. But this really sucks for you. Your first case as a detective, and you have to share." 

"Not a problem, as long as we break the case." 

"Good," Jimmy said, his sharp eyes on her face. After a pause he got back to business. "Here's what we have so far. No evidence of rape or any sexual contact. Preliminary blood typing from the tissue and blood from under her nails. There's a surprise. Two contributions. She scratched more than one person." His eyes met Jen's and quickly moved away. "One blood type matches Alan Collins. DNA tests will tell us if it's really his blood." 

"But since his face was scratched..." Frank murmured. 

"I know. It doesn't look good," Jen said. 

"Do we have enough to arrest him?" Frank asked. 

"Not yet," Jimmy said. "We'll need to question him." He hesitated. "My gut feeling is that something's wrong. There's something we're not seeing. And I want to find out who the other person she scratched was." 

"And Collins is rich and influential. Not to mention your partner is close to him." 

"That's not the reason." Jimmy gave Frank a cold look. Jen firmly kept her mouth shut. 

Frank smiled cautiously. "I just meant... because of Collins' position, you know the DA won't go for an arrest warrant without airtight evidence. No offense intended." 

"None taken." 

Seeing motion, Jen looked up as someone approached them. She greeted Wes with a smile, seeing only a glance and a token smile in return as he grabbed a spare chair and joined them. 

"Wes..." Jimmy started. 

"I know, you don't want me getting involved with this. But I have something for you," he said. "My father told me why he was at the Wells hotel." Quickly he briefed them, ending with, "The man he met must be involved with the murder. And... I know who he is." He paused. 

"Well?" Jen asked. 

Wes pulled an envelope from his jacket. "My dad thought his face was familiar. When he found out it was Eric's mother who was killed, he remembered where he had seen it." He opened it and slid out a photograph. "He's Eric's father. Dennis Myers. Pamela Myers' former husband." 

Jen stared at him, speechless for the moment, raising her eyes from the photo of a middle-aged man. She saw Jimmy looking almost as shocked. Frank's eyes widened, his face paling visibly. Wes met her eyes, his face grim and set. 

Jimmy broke the silence. "Wes -- are you sure Eric isn't involved in this?" 

"He hasn't seen either of his parents in twenty years." Wes frowned. "And I know him better than to think he could have any part in something like this." 

"He's right," Jen broke in. "We all know Eric. I can't believe he'd do anything against Wes or his father." 

"Well, at least it's a lead," Jimmy said. "Might help explain why Pamela was there. We'll follow up." 

"Myers -- Dennis Myers -- has been in jail. If his fingerprints are at the crime scene, you can identify them." 

"Right. And we can get his blood type." Jimmy told him about the evidence taken from Pamela's nails. 

Wes stood up. "Well, I just wanted to give you this and see if anything had turned up. Thanks." They said their goodbyes, Jimmy and Frank starting to talk quietly again as Wes turned away. Jen got up also and walked out with him. They stopped at the stationhouse door. 

"Are they talking about arresting Dad?" 

"It came up. But it won't happen at this point. There's only circumstantial evidence." 

"Good." He sighed. "They're right, that I shouldn't get involved. It's hard to even think straight about this." 

She tried to smile and failed. "Does Eric know? About his father?" 

"Yeah. Dad and I told him. He... took it okay, I guess." Wes paused for a moment. "He just sort of zoned out for a minute. Then he said he understood and just left." 

"God. He must be going through hell." 

"Yeah. You should have seen his face. Like he died for a second." Wes swallowed, his mouth tightening. "And Dad... he must be scared, but he's trying not to show it." 

Jen reached to take his hands. "And you?" 

"I'm okay." 

"Right. Worrying about everyone except yourself, as usual." She squeezed his fingers. 

Wes smiled, returning the pressure. "And it can't be easy for you. Your first case, and it's this mess..." 

"That's the least of my concerns right now." She stepped closer and kissed him lightly. 

He raised his hands to her shoulders and pulled her close for a moment, turning his face into her neck. "Thanks, Jen," he murmured. "Love you." 

"Love you too. See you tonight." After a last exchange of smiles, she watched him trot down the steps and head for his car, those strong shoulders sagging under the weight of care, hoping she wouldn't have to add to his troubles. 

* * *


	4. Sympathy

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please take a moment to review. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Sympathy

* * *

The afternoon had been almost surreal, one person after another 'just dropping by' at his office, all of them giving him that _look_, the one he hated, the one that said they pitied him, because his life was such complete and utter crap, because the people who were supposed to care about him didn't give a shit… he did his best to keep it all from coming back, to remember who and where he was now, but it became harder with each one. 

First it was Miller. He was the best of the bunch, stepping in only for a minute to ask if anything was new, then hesitating… 

"Anything else come up?" 

"No. Wes and I will let you know if anything happens. Just like we always do." 

"Yeah. Eric…" He paused uncomfortably. "If you don't want to get involved with this… if I can help…" 

"Thanks. But I'm okay." 

Then Gunn, acting as brisk and impersonal as he usually did, but his glance lingering on Eric's face. 

"Eric, Wes told me what happened. If you need any time off, anything at all…" 

"No. Thanks. I'm fine." 

"Well, keep it in mind." 

"Right." 

Gunn paused before leaving to look back again, sympathy under the impassivity on his dark face. "Maybe you don't think this is affecting you now, but it will. Don't be afraid to ask for help." 

Eric returned his gaze, slightly startled, stifling his annoyance, clamping down the deeper emotion that threatened. Gunn was the last person he would have suspected of sensitivity. "Thanks, Daryl. But I'm fine. Really." 

After him, William Kane, the new director of Administration and Support, who had surprised him over the last months by turning out to be a nice guy. 

"I heard about… you know. If there's anything I can do…" 

"Thanks, Mr. Kane. But there's really no problem." 

"No problem? But this whole situation -- you must feel terrible." 

"I haven't seen my mother for twenty years. I really don't feel anything." 

Kane gave him a skeptical look. "Well, the offer stands. Anything I can do, just ask. And -- please call me William." 

Eric was startled again. "Thanks. William." 

Dr. Michael Zaskin was right after him, smiling nervously, but his eyes seeming to pierce right through the shell Eric had put around himself. Eric smiled this time; Zaskin had been his friend for over two years, since he had first become commander of the Silver Guardians, first become the Quantum Ranger. 

"Eric, I'm sorry about your mother. What a shock. Can I do anything to help?" 

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." 

A pause, while that mild but penetrating gaze stayed on his face, kindness practically radiating from it. "Why don't you come by the house for dinner? I'm sure my daughter would love to meet the Quantum Ranger." 

To his astonishment and alarm, Eric felt his throat constrict, and fought to keep his voice steady. _What the hell is the matter with me?_ he wondered savagely. "No, thanks. Maybe some other time. I have a date." 

"Gaby? Good." Another silent pause, while Eric wondered how to get rid of him without hurting his feelings. "Well, I'll leave you alone. Just let me know if there's anything I can do." 

The most difficult was Alan Collins, the hardest because somewhere in the recesses of his heart Eric knew he felt Collins was everything his own father had not been. He felt a moment of the old envy and resentment of Wes, for having a father like this, for having had a real childhood. 

"Eric… I'm sorry. About your mother, about your father, this whole situation…" 

"I'm sorry, too. This must be hard on you." 

"Yes." His sharp blue gaze was on Eric's face. "I hope you believe I had nothing to do with this." 

He was surprised. "Of course. You'd never get mixed up with people like them." 

"Good." Collins hesitated. "If you want to take time off, or cut back on your duties…" 

"No. I'm fine. Wes is the one who may need time off, not me." 

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?" 

"Thanks, but I'm seeing Gaby." 

"Bring her along." 

"I'm just not in the mood for…" 

"For a group of people. I understand. Maybe in a few days." Collins stood up. 

"Alan, I'm really sorry about this." Eric stared at his desk, unable to meet the other man's eyes. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm sorry my parents did this to you." 

"It's not your fault. They're not your responsibility. No one blames you in any way. Certainly not me." Collins' voice held a depth of compassion that almost overcame his tight but fragile control. 

"Thanks," Eric mumbled, swallowing. Fortunately Collins said no more and simply left. 

Then came Wes, staring for a few moments too long, his face so damn understanding that Eric had to look away, again wrestling his own face into a lack of expression. At least he came to talk business. 

"They found two blood types under your mother's nails. Two people must have been involved." 

"Unless she got in a fight with someone else, not connected with the murder." 

"I guess that's possible… but she would have washed her hands, wouldn't she?" 

"Maybe. I don't know what she'd do." 

"Eric… I hate to ask, but do you know anything about your father that might help? Anything about what he might have been after?" 

Eric felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. "No. He was a bastard. Mean, and violent. I guess he's capable of doing just about anything, for money. It was twenty years ago -- I don't even remember what he did for a living. Maybe it's in that report on me." 

There was a pause before Wes answered. "He worked as a bartender, off and on. That's how he met your mother." 

"Great. You know more about them than I do." 

"Eric, I'm sorry…" 

"God _damn_ it! I wish everyone would stop saying that!" Eric jumped to his feet, glared at Wes for an instant, then turned his back, looking blindly out the window, taking deep breaths, trying to unravel the knot inside him. Anger was the only way he knew to hold it back, but if he let the anger out… 

"Sorry," he said after a minute. "Not your fault. I should be trying to help, not taking it out on you." 

"It's okay. I understand." 

Eric laughed without humor, his voice catching a little. "Yeah, you understand. Maybe you can explain it to me." He sighed as the silence stretched between them. "Your father is the one with the real problem here. Let's just… get this case solved." 

"Sounds good to me. Let me know if…" 

"If you can help. Been hearing a lot of _that_ today, too." Eric turned to face him. 

Wes smiled. "So have I. Everyone's been great." 

"Yeah, I guess. I could live without all the sympathy." He stepped back to his desk. "Look, I have to go. Having dinner with Gaby." 

"Okay. See you tomorrow." 

"See ya." Eric watched him leave, a sudden feeling of defeat settling over him, although he wasn't sure why. It turned into dread of the night to come, more pitying looks, maybe more questions. He briefly considered canceling, but the prospect of another night alone chilled him. He wouldn't have to talk. Gaby would understand. 

* * *

"Pass the pepper." 

"Sure." Wes handed it to Jen. The three of them were having dinner in the small dining room, the one they used when it was just family and perhaps a couple of close friends. These meals were usually pleasant, a time for all of them to catch up on their own personal events of the day. This one was almost silent. Wes's nerves, already strained, felt close to snapping. He saw no way out except to bring up the topic they had all been so studiously avoiding. 

"Jen, anything new in the investigation?" 

She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling into a smile. "Since this morning? Yes. We got Dennis Myers' blood type. He could have been the other person Pamela scratched." 

"So -- now he's a suspect." 

"Yes. But it's a common blood type. We'll need DNA to know for sure. And we have to find him first. That's it, at least there's nothing else Jimmy and Frank have seen fit to tell me." 

"Don't you think they'd tell you everything?" 

"I don't know. I think Jimmy would, but I can tell Frank doesn't really want me around." Her eyes dropped. "There's some question of whether they'll let me continue on the case." 

"Because you're close to us, I guess." 

"That's right. I'm trying to work it out." She stared at her plate, biting her lip in a gesture that told Wes she was upset and worried. 

"Why would Frank not want you around? You've worked with him before." 

She shrugged. "Not on anything like this. Maybe he doesn't trust me to be objective. Maybe he thinks I'll get in the way." She smiled grimly. "Maybe because I'm a woman. I don't know." 

"The PD is still a boy's club. I guess in Time Force there's no discrimination at all." 

"Not against women, anyway. There were people who didn't trust mutants." 

"Do you still feel homesick?" Collins asked. 

"Sometimes." Her eyes softened. "There's things -- and people -- I miss. I guess the hardest part is having to start all over again, in my career." 

"The police shouldn't be too different from Time Force." 

"It's similar. We had a lot of methods you don't have yet. If this was 2202, we'd already have DNA analysis of the blood from under Pamela's nails, instead of having to wait for weeks. We'd already know exactly who made that call to 911." 

"Too bad it isn't 2202. Maybe this would all be over." 

"Dad," Wes said, "Don't worry. We'll find whoever did this." 

"I know. I know I'm innocent. I just hope my name will be cleared, sooner or later." Collins sighed. "I'm not worried about going to jail, not really. But it's already caused other problems. I got a call from Atkinson. They want to hold off on negotiations for the acquisition. Not sure anymore if they want to be associated with us." 

Wes looked at him, seeing his disappointment and worry, and feeling his own. The family that owned Atkinson was notorious for their strong moral beliefs. They wouldn't want to do business with anyone they thought wasn't up to their standards. 

Collins smiled unexpectedly, but not a happy smile. "You know what they say. Never get caught with a dead girl or a live boy." He became serious again. "No matter what happens, people will always remember I was found drunk in a hotel room with a dead prostitute. My reputation will never be the same." 

Wes clenched his fists, unable to disagree. "Damn. I have the feeling that's exactly what they want. Whoever did this wants to hurt Bio-Lab." 

"Or maybe me personally. I've made my share of enemies over the years." 

"Dad -- do you have any suspicions? Anything at all?" 

"If I did, believe me, I'd tell you." 

Wes met his eyes, wondering. He and his father had had several disagreements about the running of Bio-Lab in the past, mostly when their opinions of what was ethical differed. If his father had done something he knew Wes would disapprove of, would he be honest about it? "A woman has died here. If you can think of _anything_..." 

"I know how important this is. You don't really think I'd hide something that could help, do you?" 

"I hope not." Wes saw a flicker of hurt cross his father's face. They returned to their meal in silence. 

* * *

They made small talk for most of the evening. Some instinct told Gaby he didn't want to talk about anything substantial, so they discussed current events, the latest gossip at Bio-Lab, the last couple of movies they had both seen, and even that old standby, the weather. Eric had been more subdued than usual, smiling at her attempts to joke but not laughing, staring blankly when they hit lulls in the conversation. 

Now they sat on her small sofa, watching the news on television, she with her legs curled under her, he with his arm around her, just as they did at the end of most evenings together. They were in her apartment, as they usually were. He seemed almost more at home there than in his own house. The only difference was the way his fingers tightened on her shoulder when the latest story about the Alan Collins murder investigation came on. 

_"Channel Five has learned that the murder victim, Pamela Myers, is the mother of Eric Myers, a Bio-Lab employee and, as most of you know, the Quantum Ranger."_

"Damn," Eric muttered softly. He lifted his arm from around Gaby and leaned forward, bowing his head. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Fine." 

"I guess it was inevitable that it would come out." 

"Yeah. I was hoping it would be after we closed the case. Now it's going to be all over the goddamn news every day." 

"At least they don't know about your father yet." 

"Not yet. But they will soon." 

"This will all blow over. As soon as the next big story comes up, everyone will forget all about it." 

"_I'll_ remember." His voice was distant, as if he was talking to himself. 

She wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Any progress yet? Anything that would clear Mr. Collins?" 

"Not yet." 

"Anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it?" 

He straightened and leaned back into the couch, visibly trying to relax, turning to look at her. "What are your parents like?" he asked. 

She blinked at the unexpected question. "Well -- they're okay. Just regular parents, I guess." 

The ghost of a smile lifted his lips. "You can do better than that." 

"Okay." She thought about it for a moment. "They're both very intellectual. Very cultured. I think I became a slob to rebel against them. They're both completely computer incompetent, so God knows where I got my computer skills. They're both nice…" She shrugged. "They're very successful professionally, and want me to be too; they were kind of demanding while I was growing up. It was a lot to try to live up to. Still is." 

"You've done okay." 

"Yeah," she answered with a slight smile. "Okay. But not as well as they have." 

"Does it bother you?" 

"Used to. But I'm pretty comfortable with the way things are now." 

"Good." He slid his arm around her again. "I used to wonder what it would have been like to have a normal family." His voice was quiet, and the hint of sadness in it touched her. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you." 

"That was a long time ago. It's over now." 

She raised her face to him, wanting to say that it wasn't over as long as that abused, abandoned little boy still lived in his head. But she knew it wasn't something he was ready to hear. Instead she kissed the side of his jaw, and smiled as he turned his head to her. He kissed her, reaching to pull her closer, then starting to unbutton her shirt. 

"Come on, let's go to bed," he said after a few moments. 

Later, she lay beside him, waiting for sleep. He had been different somehow, when they had made love. Eric usually approached sex the same way he approached everything in life, with intensity, concentration, and a single-minded determination to be the best. Tonight he had been distant, even perfunctory, as if his mind was on something else, as if she was providing an unsuccessful distraction. For a moment she felt hurt, even angry. But then the desire to help him returned, and with it the knowledge that understanding and patience were all she could offer. 

* * *

He watched her sleep, seeing her face soften and her breathing slow and deepen. She had been unusually affectionate tonight, in and out of bed. He knew she pitied him, and tried to feel his usual irritation at other people's sympathy. Instead, all he felt was an ache, and the stirring of a long ignored memory. In the bleakness of his childhood, there had been one person who cared, someone who looked at him with that same compassion. Her eyes had been a warm brown, like Gaby's, her face older, wavy brown hair starting to be flecked with gray. He hadn't thought about her in so long -- but he could almost see her again, almost hear her voice... 

"Grandma!" He ran to her, holding her tightly around the waist. She laughed and knelt to hug him. "Eric! How's my sweetheart?" 

"Fine, Grandma. Are we going to get ice cream?" 

"Yes, we are. As soon as I talk to your mother." 

His mother was sitting on the couch, watching them with a look of faint disgust, the usual glass in her hand. "What do we have to talk about?" she asked. 

"I have a few things to say. In the kitchen." 

With a sigh, his mother got up. His grandmother turned back to Eric. "Just play out here for a few minutes, okay?" 

"Okay." 

The kitchen door never quite closed all the way. He could hear them talking, but it wasn't bad like when his mother and father talked, even though they didn't sound very friendly. 

"Pamela. How are you doing?" 

"Just fine, Ma. How are you?" Just a hint of hostility in her voice. 

"Pam, it's not even noon. How many drinks have you had?" 

"None of your business." 

"You're my daughter. And that's my grandson out there you're neglecting." 

"That kid?" A laugh. "He can take care of himself." 

"He's a child." There was a short silence. "I saw bruises on his arms. Did Dennis hit him again?" 

"You know how kids are. He's always hurting himself." 

"Not like that." 

"Why don't you ask the kid, then?" 

A sigh. "I have. He denies it." 

"Well. There you are." 

Eric looked up at the door. He remembered Grandma asking him about Dad. He didn't like to lie, but Mommy and Daddy had both told him not to say anything, that then he would have to go to an orphanage and the people there would hit him much worse than Dad ever did... 

"That man's no good, Pam. I don't understand why you stay with him." 

"I don't know, Ma. Maybe I love him." 

"With the way he treats you? You'd have to be crazy to love him." 

"I guess I'm crazy, then. Besides, what's _your_ excuse for staying with Pop all those years?" 

"He wasn't that bad." 

An unladylike snort. "Right. You're not the one he liked to smack around." 

There was another pause, broken by the sound of restless footsteps. "There doesn't seem to be any point in talking to you. I'm taking Eric out for ice cream. We might as well have lunch, too." 

"Fine. Gets him out of my hair for a while." 

"And I'm taking him shopping. When was the last time you bought him clothes?" 

"Beats me." Her voice was resentful. 

"It's a disgrace the way you have him dressed. Everything he has is old, and doesn't fit. He told me the kids in school make fun of him." 

"We don't have the money to spend on him." 

"But you have money for booze. Never mind. I'll bring him back around four or five." In another moment she was in the living room with him, smiling, telling him to get his jacket. 

He could still remember that day, the ice cream -- vanilla chocolate chip -- the shopping, the talking and laughing. Just the feeling of being with someone who liked him, and paid attention to him. He could remember so many of the days he had spent with his grandmother. And he remembered, each time, asking if he could go home with her, and stay. 

* * *


	5. Separations

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review, I'm a feedback junkie. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Separations

* * *

The same bedroom, the same two people, but now it was different. Wes watched Jen move around the room as she picked out clothes, combed her hair, and started to dress, just as he had for months. Today she seemed to avoid his eyes, silently staring into the mirror as she put on earrings. Wes came up behind her and ran his hand down her back, still bare except for underwear. 

She raised her face to smile briefly. "Did you sleep okay?" 

"Yeah. You? 

She looked back at the mirror, her face troubled. "Okay, I guess." 

"Jen, what's wrong?" 

She picked up her comb and began to run it through her hair again. "Nothing." 

"Then why are you combing your hair again?" 

She put it down and sighed. "We need to talk." 

"About the case?" 

"Well, yes." 

"I'm sure you'll find something to clear Dad soon." 

"Wes…" She sighed. "It's hard for me to work on this case under these circumstances. That's what we need to talk about." He waited, and after a hesitation she continued. "I have to prove that I can keep an open mind." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I know you can't believe your father had anything to do with this. But I have to consider the possibility." 

"What? The possibility that he murdered a woman?" Wes straightened and stepped back. "I'll never believe that. He's just not capable of something like that." 

Jen turned to face him. "Most people never know what they're capable of themselves, let alone anyone else, no matter how close. You can never be completely sure." 

"I know my own father." Wes heard his voice becoming angry. "I can't believe this. Do you honestly think he could have done it? After everything he's done for you, you're willing to believe he committed a murder?" 

"We don't know all the facts… Under the right conditions, people might do something they'd never ordinarily do… All the evidence so far points to him. Maybe something happened, he got angry. If he was drunk, he might not even remember." 

"And I guess you think he went to a place like that, in the morning, to get drunk and pick up a middle-aged hooker? If Dad wanted -- wanted sex, he'd pick someone classier than _that_. Someone he wouldn't have to pay for." 

"Some men prefer hookers." Wes's face heated with anger again at Jen's words. "Actually I doubt it was what it looked like. You're right, it's not your father's style. But it could have had something to do with Eric." 

Wes turned on her, feeling another surge of resentment. "Now you're dragging Eric into it? You think _he_ was involved?" 

"Your father would do a lot to protect him." 

She was right. Wes was quiet for a moment. "Maybe he would. But he wouldn't kill anyone." He turned his back on Jen's anxious face. 

"Look, I'm not saying I think he did it. But I'm a police detective. It's my job to consider every possibility, every suspect. I can't let my personal feelings interfere. This is exactly what's making this difficult. I can't even discuss it with you in a rational way." 

He looked at her again to find her staring into the mirror, her face set and unhappy. "You think I'm being irrational?" 

"Right now, yes. But I don't blame you. It's only natural. Wes…" She took a deep breath. "I've discussed this with Lieutenant Quinn. He thinks I need to put some distance between us. By moving out." 

"_What_?" 

"He and Jimmy think that's the only way I can avoid too much conflict. And I have to agree with them." 

"You mean -- you're going to do it?"

"I'm sorry, Wes. But I think I have to." 

"Don't I get any say in it?" 

"I... I don't want to hurt you. But this is important to me. And to you. I don't think I have a choice." 

"How long have you known about this?" 

"He suggested it yesterday. I didn't want to say anything until I decided." 

"But…" Wes sank onto the side of the bed. "Move out -- are you breaking up with me?" 

She turned and came closer, standing in front of him with a warm smile, raising a hand to touch his face. "No, of course not. This is only for a little while." Her smile faded. "I don't like it any more than you do. But I don't see any other way." 

"Just stay off the case, then. Don't get involved." 

She dropped her hand and stepped away. "It's my first case… This is important to me, for my career and for your sake. I want to make sure it's done right -- I need to be involved. I need to do this." She stepped closer again as he stood up. "I'll move into a hotel, but we can still see each other." Her arms went around his body. "You understand, don't you?" 

"No, I don't." He felt a wave of anger and misery, loneliness already overcoming him. "I can't believe you'd be so ungrateful -- Dad got you that job, you owe everything to him, and now you're turning against him -- and letting it come between _us_." 

"How can you say that?" Jen stepped back and stared at him, pain in her face. "Wes, please… I _am_ grateful. But your father's life could be on the line here. Suppose he's arrested -- convicted -- and I haven't been involved -- we'd always wonder if he's innocent, if I could have done something -- I'd always feel that I let you down. Say it's all right… I can't go if you don't." 

"Jen -- it's not all right." He smiled as best he could. "But I understand. I'll live with it, I guess." 

"I'm sorry." They looked at each other miserably for another moment before she turned away to finish dressing. 

* * *

Eric dressed silently, feeling Gaby watching him, avoiding her gaze. He hesitated, adjusting the equipment on his uniform unnecessarily, before turning to face her. She was sitting on the bed, bent over, putting her shoes on. Sadness, the feeling of unavoidable loss, came over him as he looked at the lines of her back and arms, dark hair hiding her face for the moment. She straightened and looked up at him, smiling hesitantly when she saw him watching. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

"Just about." 

"I want to get going." 

"Why?" She stood and came up to him. "It's still early. We have time for some breakfast." 

"I'm not hungry." He regretted the words instantly as a questioning look crossed her face. 

"You, not hungry?" 

"I'm just... in a hurry." 

"Can't wait to get away from me, huh?" Gaby smiled at him. He tried unsuccessfully to return the smile and looked down at the floor. She stepped closer and raised her hands to his arms. "Eric, I can tell you're upset. I'd like to help." 

"I'm not upset." 

"The way you're keeping it in, it'll just make things worse." 

"I'm fine." 

"No, you aren't. You're so tense, it's like you're going to explode any second." 

He took a breath, fighting the irritation that rose up. "I don't want to talk about it." 

"You can't avoid it forever. I can see how it's affecting you." 

"I said I'm fine!" His own anger took him by surprise, flashing through him, then fading as he saw her flinch back from the expression on his face. "Look, I'm sorry," he went on after a moment. "I just... need to get out of here." 

"Wait." She hesitated again, then her chin came up resolutely. "Your mother's dead. Murdered. Your father's back, too. You're obviously having problems dealing with it. You really need to talk to someone about this." 

He felt his jaw clench as he tried to contain another surge of anger. "Gaby. Just drop it." 

"If you don't want to talk to _me_, why don't you see a doctor? A therapist?" 

"Now you think I'm crazy?" His voice was rising again. 

She flinched again but went on. "You don't have to be crazy to need help. Please, it's just going to get worse if you don't..." 

"I don't need this shit! Just -- just leave me alone." 

"Eric, listen to yourself! You have to do something about this!" 

"Don't tell me what to do!" Eric shouted. "I'm getting the hell out of here!" 

He started for the door. She stepped closer, hands out to stop him, grasping his arm and trying to hold him back. He stopped and shook her off, more roughly than he had intended, sending her stumbling. Guiltily, he took a step toward her, reaching out, then stopped as fear crossed her face and she took another step back. Blindly, he turned away, crossed to the door, left the apartment, running down the stairs, stopping in the building lobby to lean against the wall, shaking, a wave of nausea breaking over him. 

_Oh, God,_ something whispered inside him, _I'm turning into him_... He could see his father's face, twisted with rage, hear his voice shouting, the way he had been the last time Eric saw him, shouting at his mother... 

"You goddamn bitch! Where the hell have you been!" 

"I was at my mother's! Fell asleep there. That's all!" 

"Don't lie! You've been drinking, and screwing around again!" 

"No, I swear..." 

"Whore! I can smell it on you!" 

"Denny, no!" 

Eric sat up in bed as he heard the sound of a slap, and his mother crying out. He remembered the night before, his mother gone -- again -- his father sitting in the living room, waiting and drinking, his face getting angrier, his eyes deadlier. Eric had known better than to get within his reach, and better than to ask about dinner. He had fed himself with a few cold leftovers from the refrigerator and a box of crackers. That part had been all right, he was used to it. The scary part was the feeling he had that something terrible was going to happen. 

"I ought to kill you, you bitch!" 

There was a scream and a crash. Eric shivered. Thin light came through his window. It was barely morning. 

"Bastard! It's not like you don't screw around, too! And you have a lot of nerve talking about me drinking when you stink of it yourself!" 

"Shut up! I've had it with you, Pam!" There were footsteps, and the banging of a door. 

"Denny! Open this door! Let me in!" 

Eric got out of bed and went to his door, opening it just enough to see. He saw his mother, crying, shouting, standing at their bedroom door, pounding on it. 

"What are you doing in there? What the hell are you doing?" She kicked at the door. 

As she looked around she saw Eric peering at her from his room. "What are _you_ looking at?" she shouted. "Get back in there!" 

He stepped back and closed the door. Her sobs, cries, and curses continued, and the sound of movement and crashing from inside their bedroom. After several minutes there was the loud bang of their door being thrown open. 

"What is this shit? What are you doing?" his mother's voice cried. 

"I'm doing what I should have done years ago. Leaving you." 

"No, you're not!" The sound of a slap, and a cry of rage in his father's voice. 

"I'll teach you to hit me, bitch!" Another blow, the thud of a body hitting the floor. Eric opened the door again, just a little. 

"Denny, no! You can't leave!" His mother was on the floor on her hands and knees, crying, tears running down her face. His father was in the middle of the living room, a suitcase in one hand, the other fist clenched. 

He looked up at the movement of Eric's door opening, his face flaming with fury. "I've wasted enough of my life on you and your bastard piece of shit son!" 

"No... let me come with you... I'll do whatever you want..." Her voice was desperate. 

"Too late, Pammy. I've watched you screw every guy in town, pass out at every bar, I've even supported your half-chink kid. I've had enough!" 

"But... what are we supposed to do now?" 

"You think I give a shit? I hope you starve." He grinned ferociously. "You've always got one way to earn a living. Start charging for it, instead of giving it away for free." 

"No... I love you, Denny!" She was back on her feet, grabbing his arm as he started for the door. 

"Tough shit." He shook her off, swinging his arm to shove her backwards, off balance, falling to the floor again. He looked down at her and laughed. She started to get up again, falling back as he swung the suitcase at her. 

"Get out of here! Leave Mommy alone!" Without thinking, Eric was through the door and running at him, to stand defiantly between them. 

"Shit! I've had enough of you, too, brat!" A heavy hand swung at him, striking his cheek, sending him down to the floor next to his mother. They both watched as his father grinned, and then walked out the front door, and out of their lives. 

"No... no..." She was still crying. 

Eric got up and touched his mother's shoulder. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll be okay. I'm glad he's gone." 

"Shut up! Leave me alone..." She pushed him away, gently, but somehow it hurt more than the slap and the fall to the floor. Eric watched her for another moment. Then he went back to his room, and back to bed... 

Twenty years later, standing in Gaby's building lobby, Eric straightened and took a deep breath to steady himself as he heard footsteps rapidly coming down the stairs. Almost running, he went out to the street, got into his car and pulled out. He could see her in the rearview mirror. Gaby took a few steps after him, and then simply stood, watching him drive away. _Coward,_ he told himself. But he just couldn't face her. 

* * *

The exercise room at Bio-Lab echoed faintly with the sound of each punch, hollow smacks, like slaps. He gritted his teeth and hit harder, ignoring the jolt of pain in his fists and the burning of exhaustion in his muscles. 

"Eric. I think it gives up." 

He glanced behind him at Wes and then turned back to the punching bag, hammering it with another blow. 

"Want to go a few rounds? Use some of that energy on me?" 

Eric stopped, breathing hard. "Don't think it would be a good idea right now." 

"What happened?" 

"Nothing." 

"You look like shit and you're pounding the hell out of that poor bag. What happened?" Wes crossed his arms and smiled as Eric shot him an angry glare. 

"None of your business." 

"All right." Wes looked angry too now. "Fine. Shit." He turned and started out. 

"Sorry." Eric faced Wes as he turned back. "Had a fight with Gaby." 

"Sorry to hear it. Not serious, I hope." 

"I don't know. She thinks I should see a shrink." He heard the bitterness in his voice. 

"She was trying to help. Maybe you _do_ need to talk to someone." 

"Shit! You think I'm nuts, too!" 

"Oh, come off it, Eric. This has been a big strain on all of us. We should all see a goddamn shrink." 

Eric stared at him, surprised and almost amused, until he saw the tension and anger in Wes's face. "That doesn't sound like you." 

A grim smile answered him. "Had a fight with Jen. She's moving out." 

"You're kidding." 

"Wish I was. She said Quinn told her she has to, or she can't keep working on this case." 

"Well, then, it's not a problem. She'll be back when the case is closed." 

"I don't know. I said some things I shouldn't have. Got mad because she said Dad could have done it." 

"She's just doing her job, Wes." 

"I know. God, this whole thing has really screwed all of us over, hasn't it?" 

Eric sighed, hopelessness settling over him again. "Yeah. Sure has. I said some things, too, to Gaby. Not even sure why I got so mad." 

Wes was looking at him, probably trying to be reassuring, but his own dejection was showing. "When this is over, everything will be okay again. Won't it?" 

"I don't know, Wes. I don't know." 

* * *

Jen looked around the dismal hotel room, the room where Pamela Myers had been killed. It was even more depressing than the previous time she had seen it, traces of fingerprint powder scattered around, the bloodstain barely visible on the dark, patterned carpeting. She turned to watch the people with her. 

The crime scene unit had almost finished with the room. Jen, Jimmy, and Frank Kelly had wanted to be there for one of the final steps. Luminol had been sprayed over the carpet and other surfaces of the room, and they were ready to see the results. 

"Ready?" the unit leader asked. 

"Any time you are." 

She flipped off the light. The luminol reacted with blood, creating a glow clearly visible in the darkened room. There was a large blotch where the victim's head had lain. They had expected that. As the CSI team photographed the room, Jen stared thoughtfully at a trail of small spots across the carpet. 

Jimmy stirred next to her, pointing, almost invisible in the dark. "Right from the door to where we found her." 

"Yes. And under her head. And nowhere else." 

"Damn," Frank muttered. 

"She wasn't hit in this room. Either she walked in, or someone carried her." Jen looked around again. There was no trace of the blood spatter that such a hard blow to the head should have caused. Only the spots, of blood dripping as she was brought into the room and put down on the floor. 

"Looks good for your future father-in-law." 

Jen scowled, barely able to see Jimmy's grin. "We're not engaged. Yet. And I'm not letting our relationship interfere with this case." 

"Sorry. No offence." 

"The DA's the one who decided not to arrest Alan Collins." 

"And we're taking heat for that. Being influenced by his money and power..." Frank said. 

Jimmy frowned. "I had a feeling he was being set up, and now I'm almost sure. This, along with Dennis Myers..." 

Jen nodded. They had lifted fingerprints from the phone booth that had been used to call 911, and from one of the coins. Dennis Myers' prints. The photograph of him Wes had given them had quickly produced an identification from a couple of hotel employees. Myers had been there, all right. He had used two different fake names to rent this room and another one on this floor. And that was their next destination. 

They walked in, seeing another room almost identical to the crime scene, even down to the smudges of fingerprint powder and a large discolored spot on the carpet. There was a few minutes wait as more luminol was sprayed, then the moment the lights went out. 

"There." Jimmy pointed again. 

"I see it." 

This was almost the same as the first room too. A glowing splotch, a trail of spots leading to the door. But this time, there were also a few spots of light scattered around the central, large area, and there was a blotch on the corner of a dresser standing next to the bloody area on the carpet. 

The CSI team leader stepped next to them. "Judging from this, she fell or was pushed, and hit her head on the dresser. She lay on the floor, bleeding, for at least a few minutes. Notice how the main blood pool is larger than in the other room. Someone cleaned it up, but not well enough. And he probably didn't see the small drops against this dark carpeting." 

"Then he carried her out." 

"Yes. She wasn't bleeding very heavily then, or he wrapped her head in something." 

"I'll bet there's more drops in the hallway, going between rooms." 

"We'll check that out next. Then he took her into the other room. She lay there for a while, probably alive, making another large bloodstain." 

"Interesting," Jimmy murmured. 

"That's not all. We also recovered a couple of buttons from her blouse, from this room." 

"Meaning her blouse was ripped here. Whatever struggle there was happened here." 

"Right." 

"You don't think she was killed here?" Jen asked. 

She shrugged. "Can't be sure. But my feeling is no. Too much bleeding in the other room. I think she was alive there, but unconscious. She was strangled in there." 

"Thanks." 

Jen, Jimmy, and Frank were silent until they reached the sun and fresh air outside. They stopped. Jen looked back at that sad building, still beautiful despite age and neglect, trying to imagine what it must have been like in better days. Her eyes fell as she remembered Pamela Myers' face. It had been the same, its beauty worn away by the harshness of time and misuse. 

Eric's face came to her mind too, with its resemblance to his mother. _Thank God he didn't turn out like that._ With it came the thought that she would be seeing Eric soon, at a moment that was bound to be hard for him. They were scheduled to go to the morgue next, to witness Eric's formal identification of his mother's body. 

* * *


	6. Interlude

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review, it gives me strength to carry on. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Interlude

* * *

Eric had never liked the morgue. It wasn't so much the smell, or the antiseptic bleakness, the sterility of tile and stainless steel; it was the atmosphere of sadness and loss that seemed to permeate the air there, and the occasional person crying for a loved one. Today, however, he decided he hated it. 

They waited in the corridor, outside the viewing room, for the body to be brought in for them. He stood, staring at the door, not looking at the two people with him. Jen belonged there, she was a detective assigned to the case. Wes had insisted on coming, as moral support. Eric resented his presence, resented his concern, but also felt a tiny, hidden bit of gratitude. 

His thoughts returned to Gaby, her face that morning, the look of fear on it when he had shouted at her, and reached toward her. It had shaken him deeply. He knew children from abusive homes frequently repeated the pattern they had grown up with. What if he had really lost his temper, what if he had hit her? Like father, like son, even if the relationship wasn't biological... Next time he was with her, what if he lost control, gave in to that dark side of himself that seemed to be just under the surface the last few days? There wouldn't be a next time, he resolved, not until this was over. 

Hearing his name, he returned to the present and the conversation. They had spent several minutes discussing the evidence, Jen bringing them up to date. Now Wes and Jen had started talking about _him_. 

"We shouldn't even be here," Wes said. "We know who it was. Why can't they identify her with fingerprints?" 

"There's no fingerprints available yet," Jen said, her voice low. "If there's a relative who can do it -- well, they want to get a visual identification." 

"Eric already saw her at the crime scene." 

"That's not a formal ID. He didn't sign the papers. And they want him to take another look. He hasn't seen her for twenty years, after all." 

"He shouldn't have to go through this…" 

Eric's patience ran out. "Would you please not talk about me like I'm not here?" 

"Sorry." 

"I'm fine. This isn't a problem for me. Just wish they'd hurry up so we can get the hell out of here." 

"Eric, this must be hard on you. If there's any way..." 

"Wes..." Eric bit back his angry response. "Just -- don't say it. Don't say anything." 

They all fell quiet as the door opened. They filed into a small, cold, white room, smelling of death and antiseptic. Eric noticed the hollow sound of their footsteps, echoing. A moment later they were lined up at the side of the gurney waiting for them. The coroner stepped past them and pulled the sheet back. And there she was. 

Her face was whiter than he remembered from that hotel room, the flesh sagging a little more. Without immediate shock to deal with, he could see the marks twenty years had left. Twenty years… she must have been about twenty-six or seven the last time he had seen her. Younger than he was now. Beautiful, as he remembered, despite the drinking. 

Looking at that lifeless face, he saw it again as he remembered it, during the good time, the time for those months after his father had left, when their lives had gotten better. She had been a real mother, almost. For a while, anyway… 

"Eric, pick up your toys. Grandma's going to be home soon." 

He looked up at her. "But Mom, I'm busy. In a minute." 

"Now, Eric. If you're not good, Grandma'll leave too. Just like Dad." 

It was the one threat that always worked, and she had learned to use it often. He sighed, and then tried a smile. She sent him a quick smile in return, before looking back at the television. She smiled a little more now, and she looked better, the constant tension almost gone from her expression. The drinking was better, too; there was still always a glass in her hand, at least when his grandmother wasn't around; but it didn't make her act mean like before. 

It had been bad at first, when his father left. She had cried for a few days, and then over the next few weeks had become quiet and resigned. But the biggest improvement had been when his grandmother had moved in three months ago. Now they seemed almost like a normal family, except for the men who came over sometimes, and the nights his mother didn't come home... 

Obediently he collected his toys from the living room floor and took them to his room, sitting on the floor to put them away and getting distracted into play again. That was another good thing; now he didn't have to be so quiet. Even when his mother got mad at him, she didn't hit. When he heard the front door open he jumped up and ran back into the living room. 

"Grandma!" He was still excited every time she came home from work. Just as she started to frown at him, he remembered the manners she was trying to teach him. "How was your day?" 

She laughed. "It was fine, honey. How was yours?" 

"Fine. When are we having dinner?" 

She glanced at the couch. "Why don't you ask your mother?" 

"Ma…" 

"I know, you don't cook. You could give it a try." 

"I don't cook, and I don't want to cook." 

"Honestly, you sit around here all day. God forbid you should do anything around the house, or get a job and support yourself and your son." 

"I'd never get a job that pays anything decent. And someone's got to watch the kid." 

"Hmm." She frowned but changed the subject. "I guess it's spaghetti again. Come on, Eric, you can help Grandma make dinner." 

He sat in the kitchen, watching her work, answering her questions about his day at school. She smiled at him, looking pleased. She always said she was surprised that he did so well in school, always praised him for it. The truth was Eric had always liked school. It provided an escape from home, something to occupy his mind, and a way to show the other kids he wasn't just low-class trash like they said his parents were. The teasing he got from them only strengthened his determination to be better than them, to make them all sorry they had ever looked down on him. 

After a while his mother wandered in, and actually helped set the table and serve the food. They sat down and started to eat, Eric and his grandmother still chattering, his mother mostly silent, as she usually was. He tried not to let her catch him watching her. Sometimes, like now, he could see sadness in her face, and wondered if she still missed his father. He hoped not, that might mean she would try to get him to come back. 

After dinner and dishwashing, Eric and his grandmother returned to the living room to watch television. They plopped onto the couch and leafed through the paper, looking for the TV schedule. Eric looked up to see his mother standing in the kitchen doorway, a glass in one hand. 

"Mom? Are you coming?" 

"No. I think I'll just go in my room and read." With a dull look at them, she went into the bedroom she had shared with his father and closed the door. 

Eric turned back to his grandmother to see her face tight with annoyance, or maybe frustration. "I wish Mom wouldn't always stay in her room," he said. 

"So do I." 

"She looks sad sometimes." 

"I know. She misses your father, God help her. You'd think she'd realize…" She cut off her own words and smiled. "So, what do you want to watch?" 

"Whatever you like." Eric's eyes went back to his mother's door for a moment. He hated to see her sad like that. And he hated that she still thought about _him_… 

Back in that chilly morgue room in Silver Hills, he stared at her. The last twenty years of drinking and discontent showed in her dead face, but she was still instantly recognizable. He nodded, feeling as cold and lifeless as the body before him. "It's her." 

"Okay. Thanks." 

The next few minutes passed in a blur, as he signed the forms the coroner put in front of him, listening to Jen's questions. 

"Do you have a definite cause of death?" 

"Strangulation. Manual. There are bruises from the fingers on her neck." 

"Then the blow to the head didn't kill her." 

"No. That was before death, anywhere from a few minutes to an hour or two." 

"Was she conscious when she was strangled? Could she have been walking around?" 

"Hard to say. I don't think there's any way she walked from one hotel room to another on her own. But she could have been conscious enough to fight back." 

"Thanks." 

Then they were leaving. Eric walked out, not even looking to see if Wes and Jen were following. He didn't stop until he was outside, in the warmth of the sun, taking a deep breath of fresh air, trying not to feel anything, or remember anything more. 

* * *

Half an hour later they met Jimmy in the large, bare, dark office where Wes's father spent a large part of his waking life. The investigation was continuing, and it was time for questions. Jimmy and Jen had made it clear this was an official interrogation, and that Wes and Eric were welcome only as long as they did not interfere. Wes found a moment to be grateful Frank Kelly had chosen not to participate; he had made it obvious he thought Collins was guilty. 

Wes watched, concerned about his father, but also intrigued as he saw a side of Jen he had rarely seen since the conclusion of her mission against Ransik, well over a year ago. The side that was professional, that could be hard and tough when necessary, that allowed no one to get in her way when she was doing her job. Now, he saw Jimmy nod at Jen. She would be doing most of the questioning. 

"Let's start at the beginning. Who was it who called you?" 

"He said his name was Quincy. Claimed he was a board member at Atkinson. I've checked with them since then, there is a Quincy on their board, but he was out of town at the time." 

"And then what?" 

"He said he had information for me. Wouldn't discuss it over the phone. Wanted to meet at the Wells hotel bar." 

"And you went. Why weren't you suspicious?" 

"Why should I have been?" 

"What happened when you got there?" 

"He was waiting. Came up, introduced himself. We sat down to talk. I know now he was Dennis Myers." He glanced quickly at Eric, then away. 

"And you had a drink." 

"He had one. Scotch, I think. I had coffee. Too early for a drink." 

"Then what?" 

"He kept stalling, talking about how he didn't want anyone to see us. Asked me to come up to his room. I was starting to feel like something wasn't right." 

"And then?" 

"Then… I don't know. I started to feel dizzy, and sick. Then everything just sort of blanked out. The next thing I remember clearly is waking up in the hospital." 

Jimmy spoke up. "We had your blood alcohol tested. You _had_ been drinking." 

"If I did, I don't remember." 

Jen stared at him, her face thoughtful. Wes stirred uncomfortably. Eric watched, unmoving. Collins stared back, a touch of annoyance starting to surface on his face. 

"The bartender remembers seeing both of you," Jen said softly. "He says you had a drink. A double scotch." 

"What? That's not true!" For the first time Wes saw his father looking defensive, and now a little frightened. "I don't even _like_ scotch," he added. 

"He said you appeared to be drunk. Then both of you staggered out of the bar. Myers was almost carrying you," Jimmy said. 

"I…" Collins gulped. "I don't remember. I swear." 

Wes was no longer able to be silent. "He must have been drugged! It's obvious!" 

"Wes -- let us handle this." Jen's voice was firm. They exchanged a hard look before she turned back. "What's the last thing you remember?" 

"I was finishing my coffee. He was trying to persuade me to go to his room. Then I started to feel sick… I have a vague memory of walking somewhere… Hearing voices, two men, arguing... Nothing much after that, until I woke up in the hospital." 

Jen stared for another moment, her face thoughtful. She looked at Jimmy, who nodded and stood up. 

"Thanks," he said. "Sorry we had to ask these questions, but it's necessary." 

"I understand." 

A minute later they were in the hallway, walking quickly. Wes turned his head to look at Jen's face, so resolute, seeming to be not even aware of his presence. He reached to take her arm, stopping her. 

"Did you have to be so rough on him?" 

"She's just doing her job, Wes," Jimmy said. 

"It's okay, Jimmy." Jen looked up at Wes, impatience struggling with compassion in her expression. "We're not doing this for fun, Wes. Your father's involved in a murder. We're trying to find out the truth, the best way we can." 

"And what did you learn from -- cross-examining him like that?" 

She smiled faintly. "That he's probably telling the truth. His blood alcohol wasn't that high, not enough to explain his being found unconscious. From what he describes, I think he was drugged, probably Rohypnol or something similar, in his coffee. It causes blackouts and amnesia, and makes the person appear drunk." 

"You think my father drugged him," Eric said, his voice bitter. 

"Yes, we think so." 

"Sounds like something that asshole would do. Wonder how he got involved in this. What he wants." 

"That's what we have to find out," Jimmy said. 

Wes looked back at Jen. "Am I allowed to tell Dad he's off the hook?" 

Jen shook her head. "He isn't, not completely. Not yet." 

"But you can tell him what we said," Jimmy told him. 

"Okay. Thanks." He started to turn away. 

"Wes…" Jen's voice stopped him. "Talk to your father. If we're right, someone went to a lot of effort to set him up. Try to find out if he can think of anyone who would have done this to him. And -- both of you -- keep in mind they may try something again." Her eyes went to Wes's face, then away again. 

"Well -- thanks for the warning." Wes saw the discomfort on Jen's face with a pang of guilt. "Jen..." he started. 

"What?" 

"I -- nothing. I'll see you at the house, later. Help you with your stuff." 

"Okay. Thanks." She gave him another unhappy look. 

"We'd better get going," Jimmy said softly, with a glance at both of them. 

"I want to get back to Dad," Wes said to Eric as they watched Jen and Jimmy walk away. "Do you need me for anything here?" 

"No." As Wes started to turn away, Eric's voice came again. "Jen's just doing what she has to do." 

"I know. But I don't have to like it." 

* * *

Jen opened the hotel room door and stepped inside, turning to hold it open for Wes as he carried her suitcases inside. 

"Some day, huh?" he said. 

"Yeah. Some day. Glad it's almost over." Jen turned to smile at him as he put the bags down. He looked cheerful enough on the surface, but she could see the unhappiness underneath. "Thanks for helping." 

"You think I'd let you move alone?" Wes looked around at the hotel room, his smile fading. Jen was sure it reminded him of another hotel room, one not nearly as nice as this one. It made her uneasy, too. 

"I wouldn't have blamed you." 

"At least there's no mirrors on the ceiling." Wes was smiling again, a little ruefully, when she glanced at him, surprised. 

"At least you can joke about it." 

"Yeah. Better than crying." 

"Wes, this won't be for long." 

"I hope so. You'd better work hard on this case. Get it wrapped up fast. Get this over with." 

"I'm sorry I had to question your father like that. It was necessary." 

"I understand." He glanced at her, his eyes sliding away. "I'd better get going." 

"I wish you could stay..." she said softly. 

"Dad's expecting me. Don't want to leave him all alone in that house." 

"Believe me, I wish I was going with you." 

"Yeah. So do I." He looked around the room, at everything except her. "Look, I'll call you tonight. Okay?" 

"Good. I'll be waiting." She closed her eyes as he kissed her, too briefly, then watched him leave, after giving her another of those uneasy glances at the door. 

When he was gone she looked at her suitcases and then flopped down on the bed. An unwelcome loneliness and anxiety came over her. She was no longer used to sleeping alone. The last time had been in her small apartment in the Time Force complex, two hundred years in the future. 

Lucas, Trip, Katie... Alex... The thought of her friends and teammates overcame her, seeming to deepen her isolation and the homesickness she still felt from time to time. When she was with Wes, she didn't miss them so much. But now Wes wasn't here... It hit her, almost like a physical pain, just for a moment, as a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. 

* * *


	7. Family Reunion

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review, you know the drill by now. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Family Reunion

* * *

Eric saw him even before he moved. A man, standing hidden in the evening shadows under the trees beside his house, obviously waiting for him. He kept walking, quickly crossing the last few yards to his door, then flattened against the wall and drew his Guardian blaster. A second later, a shadowy figure was slipping around the corner of the house, then stopping abruptly when he found himself facing the weapon. In the fading light Eric saw a middle-aged man, average height, average build, ordinary looking, but the sight of that face made his heart pound. They stared at each other for a few frozen moments. 

"Eric?" the man finally said. 

"Dad." Eric blinked at him, lightheaded for a moment, his stomach lurching. He looked smaller and infinitely less intimidating than he remembered, but it was the same face, older, worn down, but the same face he had seen in bad dreams for years. 

"Can I come in?" 

The request sounded so ordinary that for an insane moment, Eric almost laughed. "Sure. Why not?" Myers stepped onto the porch, eyeing him cautiously. "Hold it," Eric said, raising his blaster again. "Put your hands up." He frisked the other man quickly and efficiently, raising a brow as he lifted a small revolver from his jacket pocket. Without comment he slipped it into his own jacket. 

In another few minutes Myers was sitting on his couch. Eric stood a few feet away, taking a moment to look at him more closely in the light, seeing a man who looked tired, anxious, older than his years, and with an expression of tension and suppressed anger and frustration that looked permanent. 

"It's been a long time, Eric. How have you been?" Myers gave him a wary smile. 

"Just great, Dad." 

"I guess you're surprised to see me." 

"A little." Eric grinned savagely. "We should drop by the morgue and see Mom. Have a fucking family reunion." 

"I didn't kill her." 

"No? But I'm pretty sure Alan Collins didn't kill her either. And I know you were there. Why the hell should I believe you?" 

"Look, son…" 

"Don't call me 'son'! You're not my father." Anger washed over him. "Why not stick to what you always called me? Little bastard, or goddamn brat!" 

"There's no reason to take that tone." 

"You march in here after twenty years and expect me to welcome you? After the way you treated me?" 

"I supported you! Took care of you! I gave you everything you had!" 

"You never gave me anything but the back of your hand! And your name, but you never stopped reminding me that it didn't really belong to me!" 

Myers sprang to his feet, but something in Eric's eyes must have warned him to back down. He sat again, trying to smile once more. 

"Can I call you Eric, then?" 

He sighed. "What do you want?" 

"I… I need your help." 

Again the urge to laugh almost overcame Eric. "My help. Why the hell should I help you with anything?" 

Myers bent his head and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that was disturbingly familiar. Then he looked up again. "I know I wasn't the best father. But I think you owe me something." 

"You weren't any father at all." 

Myers gave him a look that was probably meant to be sincere. "I was young then -- I guess I didn't handle things too well. But I've changed." 

"You were mean and vicious then. Why should I think you're not exactly the same now?" When there was no response he went on. "I'm curious. What do you want help with?" 

"I didn't kill your mother. But I'm being framed." 

"By whom?" 

Myers' eyes shifted. "I can't tell you. He'd kill me." 

"You can't tell me? But you expect me to believe you?" 

"It's the truth." 

"Assuming I care if you live or die, what do you expect me to do about it?" 

"I need to get out of town. I need money." 

This time the laughter won. "Money! I should have known. You actually figured you could con money out of _me_?" 

"I have no one else to go to." 

Eric stepped forward again. "Yes, you do. We're both going to the police." 

"No. No way, not the cops." After a look at Eric's face, Myers was up and headed for the door. "This was a mistake, I'm getting out of here." 

Eric grabbed his arm, pulling him back and stepping face to face. "You're not going anywhere, except to jail." 

"Let go!" 

"What the hell did you think I was going to do, just let you walk out? When I know you're involved with Mom's murder?" 

"Get out of my way!" 

"I'm not a kid you can slap around any more," Eric snarled. 

Myers backed off again, stark fear in his face. "You can't do this," he said, voice starting to tremble. "You can't turn me in!" 

"Just watch me." 

"Eric, please… we're family." 

"_Family?_" Eric grabbed his arm again, hard. "Tell me something, _Dad_, did you ever wonder what happened to us after you left? Did it even cross your mind?" 

"I knew your grandmother would help out…" 

"Yeah, she helped. But not for long." Eric glared at him, trying to let hatred and anger keep the memory away, but it came anyway. Things had been good for a while. There had been enough money to get by, and best of all, his grandmother's smiles and affection had been there for him every day. He had started to feel like they were a real family, a normal family. They had been almost happy for a couple of months, before it happened. He tried, but it came back anyway, the way her face had looked that morning... 

"Aren't you going to work, Grandma?" Eric said around a mouthful of cereal. 

"No, not today. I'm not feeling too good." 

Eric looked at her. She was a little pale, and looked tired. "I'm sorry," he said. 

She smiled. "Not your fault. Now finish up and get to school. You don't want to be late." 

A few minutes later he was at the front door, kissing her goodbye. His mother was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking in the mirror, getting ready to go out. Eric knew a day with Grandma home meant she would disappear until late that night, maybe the next morning. 

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Grandma. Hope you feel better," he said. He noticed again that she didn't look right, but with the carelessness of a child, forgot about it a moment later. 

He could still remember that day at school. It had been overcast and drizzling off and on. They had stayed in at recess, and Eric had gotten into a fight with a couple of the other boys after they said something about his mother. The teacher had yelled at all of them, and punished Eric, even though it wasn't his fault, just because he hit that bastard for what he said... 

Then he was on the way home, coming up to the house, walking through the yard, opening the door. Something about the empty silence warned him. He looked for her, and found her in the kitchen, lying on the floor. 

It got blurry after that. He remembered calling her and shaking her, calling 911, waiting for the ambulance, people swarming around her, leading him away, asking him questions. He remembered the looks on their faces when he said he didn't know where his mother was or how to reach her. He remembered the ride in the ambulance, and sitting in a chair in the hospital. Then seeing the doctor's face and knowing what he was going to say. 

"I'm sorry. Your grandmother passed away. It was her heart. She's gone…" 

Hours more of sitting, and crying, waiting, seeing the pity on the faces of people who went by, all of them fading together. Someone bringing him food that he had no appetite for. A few people sitting down to talk to him, their words so meaningless he forgot them as soon as they were gone. 

The night passed with him huddled in that chair. It was the first time he had felt utterly and completely alone in the world, with no one to care, no one to depend on, the first time he realized he couldn't trust anyone except himself, that it didn't matter if they pretended to be nice, if they tried to help, they would only let him down sooner or later. 

It was the next morning when his mother showed up, her face white and pinched. He watched her walk up, weaving a little, unsteadily. She stood and stared at him blankly. 

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice holding all the bitter loneliness and helplessness he had felt that night. 

"Come on. We're going home." That was all she said, then she turned and walked out, not even waiting for him. Later he would realize she was in pain, too, but that was the first time he felt he could hate her. 

A few more memories came, the funeral, flashes of the few mourners standing around the grave, his mother's face still with that blank look, her eyes red. Memories, still sharp as a knife, of how he had felt, how he had been sure that it was because he had been bad, that was why she was gone, why she had left him… 

"Where were you when my grandmother died?" Eric demanded, pushing Myers back none too gently. "When we were broke, and going to lose the house? You never gave a shit, did you? And now you come here talking about family and expect me to _help_ you?" 

"Eric -- okay, maybe I was a lousy father. But now -- I didn't kill her. You've got to believe me." 

"We'll see what the police believe." 

"Wait…" Myers backed up and sat on the couch again. "Can we at least talk for a few minutes first?" 

"Talk? What do we have to talk about?" Eric crossed his arms and stared. 

"Well -- your job. You're a big shot now. Making lots of money. And -- and I kept seeing you on the news a couple of years ago. That whole Quantum Ranger business. You were a big hero. Very impressive." 

"Gee. Thanks." 

"Must be exciting, having power like that." 

"Yeah. Real exciting." 

"And you've got friends here. That other Ranger." 

"Don't forget Alan Collins. My boss. The man you tried to set up for Mom's murder." 

"I -- I didn't want to do that. Had no choice." 

"I'm sure the police will be glad to hear that." 

Myers licked his lips nervously. "Could I have some water?" 

Eric frowned at him, impatient at his stalling. "Okay." He took a few steps into the kitchen, filled a glass, and headed back. He knew he had made a mistake as soon as he saw the empty couch. 

Pain exploded in his head as something crashed into it, shattering loudly. He only vaguely felt himself go down, falling to his hands and knees. A hand reached into his jacket, and he knew it was taking the revolver, but he was too dazed to react. The next moment he heard footsteps, and saw the door open, and his father darting out into the night. 

"Shit… shit!" he gasped as his vision cleared. "Idiot!" After another few seconds he staggered to his feet, raising his morpher. 

"Wes! Wes, come in!" 

He was stepping through the doorway when the response came. "Eric? Something wrong?" 

"Yeah! Get Miller, get a squad over here. My house. Call Jen, get the cops too. I'm going after him." 

"Him? Who?" 

"My fucking father! He's here! Attacked me and ran. He's armed, tell them he's dangerous…" 

"Are you hurt?" 

"I'm okay. Get over here." He didn't even wait for a reply before straightening and raising the morpher again. 

"Quantum Power!" It had been a few months. Too long. The surge of energy washed through him, blunting the pain in his head, filling him with strength, with power, with invulnerability, as the red and black Quantum Ranger suit replaced his clothing and his blaster appeared on his hip. For a moment he stood, then raised the morpher again to summon his flyer, the TF Eagle. It appeared as instantly and almost silently as always, lowering to let him leap onto a wing and then slide into the cockpit. 

He looped over the treetops, gliding quietly, his eyes scanning for movement, finding it quickly. A man was running down the street on the next block. Eric followed. The man looked up as he passed overhead, Myers' face pale in the twilight, the image enhanced by the sensors in Eric's helmet. 

Myers turned and ran between two houses, climbing over a fence, falling, getting up to run again. Eric followed as he fled through the yards of several more houses. He heard sirens in the distance. If he didn't act fast, there could be a gunfight. People could get hurt. He swooped lower. 

As the Eagle flew over, Eric leaped out, landing lightly in his father's path and standing to confront him. Myers stopped, stared at him, and raised his gun. Eric took a step forward. 

"You were so curious about the Quantum Ranger. Now's your chance to see me in action." 

"Eric, I don't want to shoot you, but there's no way I'm letting you take me in. He'll kill me..." 

"Go ahead, Dad. Shoot." 

"I'm warning you! I mean it!" 

"So do I. Shoot me." 

"Stay back!" Myers retreated as Eric started for him. He hesitated, backing up a few steps. Eric followed, paused, and jumped at him. Myers fired, hitting him in the shoulder, eyes widening as he saw the bullet bounce harmlessly off the Ranger suit. Then he turned and fled. 

They ran, crossing another yard as Myers headed for the street. It took only a few seconds for Eric to catch him, step in front of him and knock him down with a rough push to the chest. As he started to sit up Eric bent and took the gun. With the other hand, he grabbed his father's shirt and pulled him to his feet. Myers struggled and punched at him, with no effect. 

"If you'd bothered to pay attention, _Dad_, you'd have known a gun wouldn't stop me. But you've proved what a murdering scumbag you are." 

As he glared into that hated face again, he heard cars, and saw that the Silver Guardians had arrived, followed closely by the police. There was movement overhead, and he looked up to see a flyer pass low over them. A familiar red-suited figure sprang from it and landed a few feet away. 

"Eric -- are you okay?" Wes asked. 

"Fine." 

Eric let go and stepped back as they were surrounded by Guardians and police. Two officers stepped up and took Myers' arms. He flinched but didn't struggle. Everyone looked up as another flyer swept over them. This one landed, and as Eric had expected, the Pink Ranger jumped out and joined them. He raised his arm and demorphed, transforming back into normal form. After a moment, Wes and Jen did the same. 

"Wes, Jen, I'd like you to meet my father," Eric said, his voice bitter and sarcastic. "You should be flattered, Dad. Three Power Rangers, a squad of Guardians, and half of the SHPD. Just for you." 

"You've got to help me, Eric," Myers said in a low voice. "Don't let him get me." 

"Who?" Wes asked. 

"You wouldn't believe me." Myers glanced around nervously. 

"Try us." 

"Don't bother, Wes," Eric said. "He's lying, just like he's lied his whole life." 

"You were working with someone, weren't you?" Jen asked. "Who? Who else was involved?" 

"I can't tell you!" Myers looked even more frightened now. "You've got to protect me!" 

"You'll be safe in jail," Jen said. "We're arresting you on suspicion of murder." 

"He attacked me. Broke a lamp over my head, and tried to shoot me," Eric said. 

"Assault, too, then." She smiled. "We'll continue this discussion soon. Take him away." 

"Wait," Myers said. Eric was turning away. He glanced back, seeing desperation, fear, and determination in his father's face, enough to make him stop and face him again. "Eric, I know you hate me. Maybe I deserve it. But I didn't kill your mother, and I won't be safe in jail. If you believe in justice -- you'll help me." 

Seconds later he was being pushed into a patrol car. Eric watched as it started up and pulled out. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around to see Wes next to him. Jen was on his other side, giving him a smile and a pat on the arm. Impatiently, he shrugged them off. 

"I'm going home," he said, and turned away, but he paused long enough to look back and say, "Thanks." 

His father's words were still in his head as he stepped back into his house. _Justice. He doesn't deserve it._ But everyone was entitled to justice, and Alan Collins was entitled to the truth. Maybe Myers hadn't done it. Then who had? Eric threw himself on his couch, letting the reaction take over, feeling weak and shaky for a few breaths. 

_Justice. Yeah, I believe in it. For Mom. Even for you._

* * *


	8. Interrogation

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

As ever, please review. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Interrogation

* * *

Eric walked through his office door and froze, just for a moment. He had his second unexpected visitor in two days. Gaby was sitting in his chair. She stared at him without a smile, and without getting up. 

"Gaby," he said after a few moments. 

"Eric. How are you?" 

"I'm all right," he said cautiously. "How are you?" 

Her brows lifted. "Great. I heard your father was arrested last night." 

"Yeah..." He took a restless couple of steps toward the window. "He showed up at my house. Wanted me to help him get out of town." 

"What?" 

"Asked me for money." 

"Jesus. You're kidding." 

To his own surprise, he smiled. "No, I'm not kidding. He was there. And that's what he said." 

"So? What happened?" 

"I turned him over to the cops. They're going to question him in a few hours." 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"I don't suppose you want to talk about it." 

"Not really." He turned to face her. "What are you doing here?" 

"I decided this was the only way I'd ever get to see you again," she said. "You're always busy, or on your way somewhere." 

"I've had a lot to do." 

"Is that why you haven't returned my calls?" 

"I've had a lot on my mind." 

She stood up. "I know. I've been worried about you. You could at least have left a message. Let me know you're all right." 

He sighed. "I'm..." 

"Don't tell me. You're fine." 

"I'm sorry..." 

"Don't be sorry. Be honest. If you're not interested anymore -- if you don't want to see me anymore -- that's okay, but at least _tell_ me about it." 

He stared for a second. "It's only been a day, for Christsake." 

"I guess I'm insecure." 

"And it's got nothing to do with not wanting to see you." 

"Then what is it? Why are you avoiding me like this?" 

"Why do _you_ want to be with me?" 

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?" 

He looked away from her. "After what happened the other morning, why would you want to be around me?" 

"Because I..." She paused, as he looked back at her face. "I care about you. Don't you know that by now?" 

He took a moment to answer. "And I care about you, too. That's why I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other right now." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"You know what happened the last time!" He turned away. "I really lost it. Couldn't stop myself. Yelled at you. Said things..." 

"You're under a lot of pressure. I understand." 

With an uncomfortable glance he said, "You were afraid of me." 

"Well -- maybe for a second. I'm sorry." 

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "_You're_ apologizing to _me_?" 

"Yeah, I am!" she said defiantly. 

They were quiet for a moment, staring at each other, Gaby smiling slightly. "I would never -- hurt you," Eric said quietly, hoping it was true. 

"I know." 

"When this is over..." 

"No. You need to relax a little. Try to forget about -- things..." She came close and reached a hand to the side of his face, trailing her fingers down to his chest. "Let's go out tonight. We can have dinner, or whatever you want." 

"Gaby, you don't understand. I don't know if... I might act the same way again." 

"I trust you." 

"I'd be lousy company." 

"That doesn't matter." 

He smiled reluctantly. "Okay. I give up. I'll pick you up tonight." 

"Great." She gave him a quick hug. "I've got to get back to work. See you tonight." 

As she smiled up at him, he raised his hands to hold her face between them and kiss her lingeringly. Then, with a last smiling glance, she was gone. Eric watched her leave, a sense of loss beginning to descend on him again, despite her words and the look on her face. Sooner or later, she would start to get tired of him, to lose patience with his moods and his temper, to figure out it wasn't working, that she would be better off with someone else. 

_Paranoid._ He shook himself mentally. Always so suspicious, always so hard to trust anyone. He knew most of it was in his own head. But how much? How much was just realism? His own mother had left him... had never loved him... had run around with every man who came along, never faithful to anyone, even the man she supposedly loved. 

It had gotten worse after his grandmother died, much worse. His mother had seemed to give up on any kind of normal life. There had been more drinking, more men, constant worry about money. He realized now that was probably when she did what his father had so cruelly suggested, and started charging for it... 

He had started spending most of his time in his room, had started leaving the radio on, night and day, trying not to hear the sounds that came from his mother's room when she brought men home. He hated seeing them, the men, hated the way they looked at him, sometimes friendly and sympathetic, sometimes irritated and impatient, a few of them smiling with a predatory edge that made his skin crawl. It was quiet now. There was a man with her tonight, but he knew from experience they probably wouldn't come out anytime soon, and he was hungry. 

As he came out of the kitchen, he heard it. Not the sounds he usually heard, but the sharp impact of a slap, and his mother crying out, and a male voice saying something angry. Slowly he moved closer to the door, listening. The voices went on, both of them furious, starting to shout. There was the sound of another blow, another cry. 

Without thinking, he leaped at the door, throwing it open. They were beside the bed, in their underwear, struggling. They both looked up, startled for a moment, the man -- tall, heavy, with stringy dirty blond hair -- holding his mother by the arm, his fingers digging in, his other hand already raised for another slap. 

"Leave my mom alone!" Eric shouted, and ran at him, swinging an ineffectual punch. 

The man let go of her and turned on Eric, grabbing his arm and dragging him onto the bed, pinning him. He laughed. "What's this little shit doing? Think you're a tough guy, do you?" His hand rose and fell, hitting Eric across the face. "I'll do what I want, kid! You can't stop me!" With a yank, he pulled Eric off, to fall on the floor. 

"Get out!" Pamela screamed. She threw herself at the man. "You bastard! Get out!" 

With a snarl, he swung at her, knocking her flat onto the floor. He stood watching her for a moment, and then began to pick up his clothes. He turned back to her. "I'm never coming back here, bitch!" 

"Good! Just get out!" she cried as she climbed to her feet. 

Eric had gotten to his feet, too. Still blinded by fury, he kicked the man in the leg as he started out. With a howl of rage and pain, the man backhanded him, sending him crashing against the wall, to fall to the floor, his head spinning. He dimly heard the front door slam. 

"Eric? Are you all right?" His mother was bending over him, her face showing unaccustomed concern. 

He nodded and sat up, pressing a hand to his mouth. It came away bloody. He looked up at her. "Why did that man hit you?" 

She laughed, with something not entirely sane in her voice. It frightened him. "I don't know. I guess he just liked it. They all like to hurt me..." The next moment her expression was angry. "Didn't I tell you to stay out of my room when I have a guest? Now look what you did!" 

"I tried to help you..." 

"All you did was make him angrier. Did you think you could fight a guy like that? How stupid can you be?" 

He pushed her hands away and struggled back to his feet. "Sorry. I won't do it any more." 

"I can fix that cut for you." 

"No." He turned away from her. "I'm fine." 

* * *

Jen crossed her arms and frowned, watching Jimmy work. She had seen him do this before, and knew how good he was, how he always seemed to know what questions to ask and how to ask them, how to tell if someone was telling the truth. She was determined to learn from him. 

Her eyes rested on the subject of their interrogation. Dennis Myers. An ordinary looking man, but what Wes had told her about him made her look more closely for the monster of Eric's childhood. For a moment she tried to find a resemblance to Eric, before remembering they had no blood relationship. There was an emotional relationship, though. She knew enough psychology to know Eric had gotten many of his first lessons in how to live his life from this man. Silently she was thankful that he seemed not to have followed that example. 

Frank Kelly was also present, still assisting, standing back like Jen, and watching, staring at Myers, an uncharacteristically grim expression on his face. He had become very intense, very involved. Jen wondered how much was concern for justice and how much was his desire to make his mark in an important case. But it hardly mattered, she decided. They needed all the help they could get. 

She gave a quick glance to the one-way mirror on one wall. Behind it, she knew, Wes and Eric were watching. If it was up to Wes, he would have been in the room with them, but Jimmy felt he was too closely involved, and Jen had reluctantly had to back him up, adding to the reasons Wes had to be irritated with her. He hadn't looked happy when he went into the viewing room. 

Eric had arrived just as they were about to start. He had wanted to join in the questioning, but Jimmy had vetoed that idea too. Jen couldn't blame him. Eric was too consumed by hatred of his father to be useful, although he said all he wanted was to get at the truth, and Jen believed him. There simply was too much chance that his temper would take over. 

"Why are you in Silver Hills?" Jimmy asked, his voice deceptively mild. 

Myers shifted a little in his chair, nervously. "Just passing through." 

"What were you doing in the Wells hotel?" 

"Gotta stay somewhere." He made a pathetic attempt at a smile. 

"Why did you call Alan Collins?" 

Myers squirmed, licking his lips. He glanced at Frank, who stared back stonily. "I -- I met him before. At -- a bar. He was in San Francisco, on a business trip." 

"So, you just called him. Why did you ask him to meet you?" 

"I thought we could get together. Have some fun." 

"What kind of fun?" 

He smiled slyly, seeming more at ease. "The kind Pammy specialized in." 

"You mean hookers." 

"Yeah. You know how it is." 

* * *

In the small, darkened room behind the one-way mirror, Wes made a sound of disgust. "He's so full of shit. My dad would never do something like that." 

"Maybe." Eric stood next to him, his face blank and controlled. 

"What do you mean, maybe? Do you think he would?" 

"I don't know. We'd all like to think our parents are perfect..." His eyes were distant for a moment. "Your father's just a man. Only human." He glanced at Wes, his face softening into something that was almost a smile. "But I don't think so. And I'm sure _my_ father's lying." 

"Do you think he really met Dad before?" 

"I doubt that too. They don't exactly travel in the same circles." 

"Then -- why did he call him? And what was he doing here?" 

Eric shrugged. "They're still asking questions. Maybe we'll find out. All I know right now is -- I'm sure he's lying." 

* * *

"Yeah, I know how it is. We're both men. A couple of guys get together, they want to meet a couple of girls..." 

"Yeah, right." 

"So what went wrong?" 

Myers hesitated, shooting another nervous glance at Frank. "I -- he took a liking to Pammy -- they went in the other room -- that's all I know." 

"She had girls working for her. Why was she there herself? Didn't Collins want someone younger?" 

Myers fidgeted. "Pammy was still a good-looking woman -- they don't always go for young. Maybe she liked him. I don't know." 

"Wasn't there a girl for you?" 

"Nah -- I had a few drinks too many -- kind of lost interest, you know what I mean." 

"So, while your wife was being murdered, you were sleeping it off?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

Jimmy leaned toward him, his voice becoming understanding. "But -- didn't it bother you that your wife was banging another guy, right down the hall? Practically right in front of you?" 

Myers smiled briefly. "It's not like it was the first time. Besides, we weren't married any more. We weren't really together. Not like that." 

* * *

Wes felt his face redden with fury and embarrassment. "He's still lying. He must be. I'm sure Dad wouldn't have gone with that..." He cut off his own words and glanced uncomfortably at Eric, seeing his jaw clench. 

"Might as well just say it, Wes. Whore." 

"I'm sorry. I would never say that." 

"Why not? It's true. I used to see the men she brought home. Used to hear them..." Eric's voice filled with anger and pain, his face tightening in the dim light. Then he took a deep breath and returned to the blankness of before. 

* * *

"Why don't we stop playing games, and listening to fairy tales? Pamela was hit on the head in your hotel room, the one you were supposedly sleeping in. Then she was taken to the room she and Collins were found in. At that point she wasn't in any shape to think about sex. What really happened?" Jimmy had moved in, his voice hard and sharp now. 

"No -- I told you the truth..." 

"You've been lying all along. What was the deal? What were you after?" 

"I met him, just to have a couple of drinks, like I told you..." 

"Bullshit. Collins didn't take time out of his schedule to have a couple of drinks with a bum like you." 

"He _did_... And then he and Pammy went off... I was drunk, I don't know what happened." 

"Not too drunk to call 911." 

"I -- I didn't call them..." 

"Yes, you did. We have your fingerprints on the phone and the coin you used." 

"I don't want to answer any more questions!" 

"Who else was there? Who are you afraid of? Who did you ask your son to protect you from?" 

Myers stiffened, his eyes flickering again to where Jen and Frank stood. He looked frightened. "No one. I just made that up." 

"Why?" 

"I want a lawyer. I'm not saying anything else." He crossed his arms and shut his mouth firmly. 

* * *

They met in the hallway, Jen following Jimmy and Frank out, seeing Wes and Eric emerge from the viewing room. 

"What do you think?" Wes asked Eric. "Is he lying now? Or did he lie to you, before?" 

"I think he's afraid of someone." Eric's brows creased thoughtfully. "There's someone else involved." 

"My dad said he remembers two men's voices, arguing. There must have been someone else there." 

"Yes. But my father thinks he'll kill him if he talks. I'm sure of it," Eric said. 

"But -- he's in custody. He's safe with us." 

"Maybe. Obviously he doesn't feel safe." 

"We'll get it out of him," Frank said, his eyes hard. "Sooner or later." 

"Not as long as he's lawyered up. But maybe if he gets scared enough, he'll talk," Jimmy said. 

"And meanwhile, we can take another look at the evidence. Maybe something'll show up," Jen added. 

* * *


	9. Betrayal

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review (as always), but please try not to include spoilers about who the killer is. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Betrayal

* * *

"Is this all?" Jen lifted a brow at Jimmy. They were still at work, into what should have been dinnertime, after their day should have been over, going over the evidence, still looking for that one vital clue that could tell them the truth. So far it had eluded them. 

"Buttons from Pamela's blouse. Fingerprints, blood samples from the rug and the dresser, photographs. That's from Dennis Myers' room. From the murder room... Pamela's clothes. Tissue and blood from under her nails, more blood from the carpet, more photos, more fingerprints. Prints from the pay phone and coin. Interviews with various hotel employees." Jen sighed and leafed through the papers again. "This isn't telling us anything new." 

"There's something there. I have a feeling." 

"Your detective instinct?" She smiled at him. 

"I guess." 

A shadow of nostalgia passed over Jen. "An old friend of mine had feelings like that." 

"One of the Rangers?" 

Jen looked up. Jimmy was one of the few people with whom she had discussed her past as the Pink Ranger. "Yes. His name's Trip." 

"And were his feelings right?" 

"Most of the time." 

Jimmy smiled. "Wish mine were." After a moment he went on. "Must be a jolt for you. First you're a Power Ranger. Famous. A big hero, after those mutant attacks. Now -- you're a plain old cop. Kind of a letdown, I guess." 

"Actually, no. I like this work. It's just as important, just as much of a challenge. In some ways it's harder." 

"How?" 

"We used to always know who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. With the possible exception of Eric, for a little while. Now -- most of my job is trying to figure out who's done what. Who the good guys and bad guys are. Sometimes the difference between them isn't very clear." 

"Yeah. And sometimes we never know for sure." 

"I hope this won't be one of those times." 

Jimmy smiled. "Well, in that case we should get back to work." 

Jen flipped through her sheaf of papers again. "You know, I did notice something strange. But it probably doesn't mean anything." 

"Let's hear it." 

"In the list of excluded fingerprints." Jen studied the papers again. The fingerprints of the police and Guardians on the scene were on file, and were automatically excluded as suspects, but the list was still included in the evidence. "Frank's name shows up." 

"Strange. He's not usually careless enough to leave his prints at a crime scene." 

"I know. There's a print in the other room, where she was hit. I don't remember him even being in that room before it was fingerprinted. And there's a thumbprint on the victim's belt. I remember watching Frank. He had gloves on. He warned Eric not to touch the body. Why would he have touched her himself?" 

Jimmy stared at her somberly. "Do you know what you're suggesting?" 

"I'm not suggesting anything. The evidence is." 

"You think a Silver Hills police detective could have been involved in this? I've known Frank for years!" 

"You're the one who lectured me about keeping an open mind. Not letting personal involvement influence my judgment." 

"Yeah, but -- to accuse a cop..." 

"I'm not making any accusations. But we need to know what those prints are doing there." She watched him steadily. 

There was anger in Jimmy's face, but also uncertainty. "All right. Check it out, if it'll make you happy. But I hope to God you're wrong." 

* * *

Eric gripped the wheel a little tighter. Dinner had been depressing. His fault. He had been unable to relax, his mind returning to the images he kept trying to pretend didn't mean anything; his father's face, sometimes angry, sometimes frightened, his voice, pleading for help, answering questions, telling lies. His mother lying on that bloody carpet, and later, in the morgue. Mr. Collins' face, pale and shocked in the hotel room and in the hospital, and Wes's, the way it had looked listening to the interrogation, the accusations against his father. Gaby, too, her face when he had shouted at her... 

He shook himself mentally, trying to force them away, long enough to get through the night. But they kept coming back, and all the memories of twenty years ago were there too, drifting through his mind. At work it was easier, but tonight, with Gaby watching him, looking for signs that he was losing it again, all of it was there, making a queasy knot tighten in his stomach. When this was over, maybe those feelings would go away... but maybe they wouldn't. Maybe he'd never be able to put them back in their corner, back where he could control them. 

"Eric, are you listening?" Gaby's voice jolted him. 

"What? Sorry." 

"I just asked you what you thought of the restaurant." 

"The restaurant. It was okay." 

"You're awfully quiet tonight." 

"Got things on my mind." 

She was silent for a few seconds before asking, "Can't you stop thinking about it, just for a few hours?" 

"You don't understand." 

"So tell me about it." 

"I don't feel like talking." 

"But..." 

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine." 

"Right, fine. You've hardly said a word all night. But you're fine." 

* * *

Wes watched his father from the doorway, seeing him at the desk in his study, working late. It was a sight he was used to. Memories came back, of a childhood spent watching his father work, of spending most of his time with servants, and later, at boarding schools, including the prep school where he had met Eric. 

Not that it had been a bad childhood. The servants had spoiled him, and so had his father, when they had been together. He had always known his father had loved him, had spent enough time with him to love him, too. While he wished he had known his mother, he had been so young when she died that he had never really missed her. Sometimes he had felt resentful, but things could have been so much worse... 

His father looked up, saw him, and smiled. "Wes. What's up?" 

"I need to talk to you, Dad." 

"Sure." Collins' face became serious, in response, Wes knew, to his own expression. 

Wes came to the desk and sat down. "I just got a call from Jen." 

"How's she doing?" 

"Okay, I guess." 

"Maybe now that I'm not the main suspect, she can move back in." 

"I think she doesn't want to until the case is closed. I haven't asked her." Wes stared at the floor for a moment, trying not to let his unhappiness show. "I'm sorry for the way she's acted." 

"Wes, she's doing her job. Don't blame her. I don't." 

"But you got her that job..." 

"She wouldn't deserve it if she let loyalty to us interfere with a murder case. She has to do what she thinks is right." 

"Maybe. I don't know." 

"Don't you think I'm innocent?" 

"Of course!" 

Collins sighed and spoke slowly, choosing his words. "Jen has done nothing but try to find the truth. That can only benefit me. I don't want her -- or you -- to protect me, or take it easy on me. I want her to find out who killed that woman, so we can all put this behind us." 

Wes looked away, then back at his father's face. "That's what she wanted to talk to me about. They found some prints in the hotel rooms." He paused for a few moments. "I need to ask if you have any connection to Frank Kelly." 

"The detective who's assisting Jen and Jimmy?" 

"Yes." 

"Is that whose prints they found? But -- he was there. Wouldn't you expect to find his prints?" 

"Jen's just checking something out. Do you know him?" 

"No. Never met him." 

"That's right, he didn't come with Jen and Jimmy when they questioned you." Wes frowned. He had thought that was surprising at the time. "Are you sure there's no connection? Maybe Bio-Lab did business with him at some time? Or with a member of his family?" 

"No." He hesitated. "I knew a John Kelly, years ago. He was an early partner in Bio-Lab." 

"And? Any reason he'd have a grudge against you?" 

"I'm afraid so." He frowned. "He's dead now. But I remember he had a son. He'd be a few years older than you." 

Wes got up, his heart sinking. "I think I'd better call Jen." 

* * *

"Why does everyone think something's wrong with me?" Eric snapped. 

"Because… how could there _not_ be something wrong with you? Your mother's dead. Your father's a suspect now. You won't talk about it, you've been avoiding me, you're shutting everyone out…" 

"Women always think you have to talk everything to death!" He calmed himself with an effort. "I don't _want_ to talk about it. There's nothing to say." 

"I think it would help. You're keeping everything inside. It's not healthy." 

"All right. If that's what you want." There was a sharp edge of anger in his voice; he felt it all boil up again, hot and cold at the same time, twisting his insides. "Where should I start?" 

"Wherever you like. Whatever is bothering you." 

He spoke harshly. "You want to know what was the worst thing? Not my father hitting me, and calling me names. Not even the fact that both of them never wanted me. Not all the men my mother brought home, and her drinking." 

Gaby's voice was hesitant now. "What, then?" 

"She left me... just dumped me like a piece of garbage. She didn't even care what happened to me..." He tried again to calm down, but the memory was coming back, taking him twenty years into the past, turning him into that nine-year-old boy again, watching his mother getting ready to leave. 

"She said we were leaving, moving to another city. She said we'd start all over again, everything would be better." 

He had watched her pack, watched her get dressed. She had said there was no room for everything, he was taking only one small bag of his own things, not that he had enough to fill much more. She was nervous, he could tell, and it was making him nervous too. 

"Why do we have to go, Mom?" 

"You know we don't have any money, since your father left and Grandma died. We can't pay for this house anymore." 

"But I like this house. I wanna stay." 

"Can't always have what you want." Her voice was both curt and resigned. "Hurry up and put on your jacket." 

"Where are we going?" 

"I told you. Los Angeles." 

"What's it like there?" 

"It's big. Come on, we have to get going." 

"All right. What about my toys?" 

She looked at him, a hint of unaccustomed softness in her face. "We don't have room for much that won't fit in your bag. Pick out your favorite, and take that." 

It was a tough choice, but he finally picked up a large toy airplane. "Okay." 

"Come on." 

They went out to the car. It was early, still morning, a nip of chill still in the air. His mother's things were already packed in the trunk. Eric carried his bag and the toy into the front seat with him. She got in next to him, and sat for a moment, clutching the steering wheel, her head bowed. 

"Are you okay, Mom?" 

"What? Yes." 

"You look sad." 

She raised her head and looked at him. Tears sparkled in her eyes. He assumed it was regret at leaving the house they had lived in all his life. He felt sad, too, as he looked at it. It was ugly, and had an uncared-for look, and he had rarely been happy there, but it was all he knew. The thought of giving up this familiar place, leaving his home, his school, and his few friends to face the unknown was frightening. 

"I'm fine," she said. She smiled, a little, and started the car. 

It was a quiet drive, Eric asking a few questions, his mother replying briefly. They went through downtown, toward the bus station. He could still remember that drive, and what the station looked like as they pulled up, that stark old building in a run-down part of town. In the parking lot, his mother sat again for a moment, her posture tense, before opening her door. 

"You have your bag and your toy? Come on." She started for the station. 

"What about your stuff?" 

"I'll get it in a minute. Come on." 

They went inside. She found them seats in the waiting room, and sat next to him, twisting her hands together on the strap of her purse. He looked around. The room was dirty and depressing. There were only a few people besides them. 

"You have the money I gave you?" she asked. 

"Yes. Right here." He pulled it out of his pocket to show her. 

"Good. Just keep it in your pocket." She went into her purse and gave him a handful of quarters. "Here's some change for the vending machines, too." 

"Thanks!" 

"You see that window? That's the ticket agent. If anything happens, you just ask him to help." 

"What's going to happen?" Her nervousness was starting to scare him a little again. 

"Nothing." She sat silently for a few more seconds, looking at him. "Eric... I know I haven't been a good mother." She paused again as he stared at her. "I can't take care of you like I should. Just remember..." 

"Remember what, Mom?" he prompted when she stopped. 

"Nothing." 

To his surprise, she leaned in, kissed his cheek, and squeezed his shoulders for a moment. It was the first time -- the only time -- he could remember her embracing him with real affection. Then the moment was over, and she stood up. 

"I'm going to get my bags. Be good while I'm gone." She hesitated, looking at him, her lips starting to tremble, then turned away and hurried out, almost running. 

Twenty years later, Eric sat in his car, parked in front of Gaby's building, staring blindly down at his clenched fists, hardly conscious of Gaby sitting next to him. They were both silent for a few moments. 

"She never came back," he said dully. 

Gaby was quiet for a few seconds. Her voice trembled slightly when she answered. "It sounds like she did care about you. She didn't _want_ to leave you." 

"She left. Who cares if she wanted to or not?" 

"Maybe she really thought you'd be better off. She said she couldn't take care of you. And I guess she was right." 

The anger surged back, sharper than ever. "Don't make excuses for her. She didn't want to be bothered with me. Didn't even want to try." 

"I'm just saying maybe she _did_ love you..." 

"That bitch never loved anyone!" Suddenly he was shouting, turning on Gaby, seeing her shrink back. He clamped down on the anger, forcing it back, barely able to control it, or the pain that was behind it. He turned to face front again, staring out at the street. "Sorry. Look, it's late. You'd better go." 

"Aren't you coming in?" 

"No." He glanced at her face, seeing hurt and worry there. "I just can't handle this tonight." 

"You're doing it again. Shutting me out." 

His hands tightened on the wheel. "I can't handle any of this! Just... get out. Go home. Leave me alone!" 

Her eyes were bright with tears now. "I can't take this anymore either!" 

"That's it then! It's over!" 

She didn't answer, only stared at him for a few heartbeats, her face stricken, and then pushed the door open and climbed out, slamming it behind her, running recklessly across the street and disappearing into the building. Eric watched her go, fists clenching again, half-hoping she would come back. But she didn't. He told himself to go after her, but all he did was start the car, and head for home, alone. 

* * *

Wes watched his father's face as Jen handed him the photograph of Frank Kelly, watched his expression of surprise and recognition. 

"He looks like John... Frank Kelly is his son?" 

"Frank's father is dead," Jimmy said. He had arrived with Jen, a few minutes before. They were all sitting in the living room. "Frank never talks about him." 

"It fits. John Kelly died years ago." 

"Dad? What happened to him? What's his connection with you?" 

Collins sighed heavily. "He was one of my original partners in Bio-Lab." 

"I don't remember hearing his name." 

"No. It didn't last long. John... John was a fool. He had inherited money -- he put most of it into starting up Bio-Lab, and expected to take a part in running it. I tried to keep him out of management, but he insisted on making decisions, important ones, and as long as he was a partner, I couldn't stop him. Lost us a lot of money over the first couple of years, but he didn't learn. 

"Then he made a large investment in buying out a company that turned out to be worthless. One of his friends had recommended it, and he didn't bother to check it out. It was a major loss, we came close to losing everything, because he didn't want to do his homework." 

He sighed again. "I forced him out. Had to do it, had to get him out and keep the money he had put in. I saved Bio-Lab. But John went broke. Everything he had was in this company." He looked up at them, his face unhappy. "His wife left him. He had nothing left. A year later he committed suicide." 

After a few moments Jen spoke softly. "I'd say his son might want revenge." 

"I didn't want to do it," Collins said, his eyes on Wes. "I had no choice. John would have taken Bio-Lab down with him if I had let him stay." 

"Not your fault, Dad." But Wes avoided his eyes. There was silence. 

"I think it's time for another talk with Dennis Myers," Jimmy said. 

* * *


	10. Showdown

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

As ever, please review, and try not to spoil. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Showdown

* * *

Eric walked into his house, slammed the door, pulled his jacket off and flung it down, still furious, seething with anger at Gaby, at his mother, his father, at himself. All of it was out of control, talking about it had made it _real_, brought it all out again. It hadn't helped, just made it worse... part of him wanted to give in, let go, the part that sensed it would relieve the pressure inside him, but a bigger part refused to give in. He wiped his hands over his face and tried to hold on, tried to keep control, keep away the despair that threatened to break through. 

He slumped on the sofa. It was over with Gaby. For a while he had thought he had found someone who could make him happy, someone who could be happy with him. But he should have known. Relationships never lasted, not for him. Briefly, he wondered if he was more angry with Gaby for giving up on him, or with himself for pushing her away. 

Inevitably, his thoughts returned to his mother. She had given up too, given up on him, on trying to take care of him. When it counted, she hadn't cared enough to try. He wondered if she had thought about him over the years, if it had ever occurred to her to wonder what had happened to him. If she had ever imagined how he felt in that bus station, waiting for her to come back. 

He closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa, remembering sitting there, waiting for his mother to walk back through the door. He hadn't lost hope for a long time. After half an hour or so he had gone out to the parking lot to look for her, and found the car missing. Even then he had thought she must have forgotten something, and gone to the house for it, or wanted to buy something, and just hadn't wanted to take time to tell him. Back in his seat, he settled in, watching the door. He had a book, and his toy. 

The hours passed slowly, the day wearing away as he tried to tell himself she'd be back any minute. Night came. There were only a few people now, it was quiet. He got food from the vending machines and napped sitting up, in his chair. Every couple of hours he woke up, staring around that barren room, hoping this time she would be there. 

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" 

He looked up, blinking himself awake. A man was standing over him. "I'm fine," he said. "My mom's coming right back to get me." 

"Okay." The man stared at him for another moment, but then he went to sit down with a woman. They whispered, still looking at him. Eric was glad when they left to catch their bus ten minutes later. He saw the ticket agent looking at him, too, and moved to where he couldn't see him. 

Morning, finally. He thought the light would help, make him a little less frightened. But the fear was gnawing at him, growing, twisting his stomach into knots, making him breathe fast when he let himself think about it. Alone. He was all alone, with strangers looking at him... Soon someone would find out. He couldn't let them know, couldn't let anyone know his own mother had left him here, and wasn't coming back... He took a deep breath, forcing the fear down. She _would_ come back. She had to. 

The second night approached. The ticket agent was getting suspicious, had come out to look at him several times. Eric hid in the men's room, shut up in a stall, dozing off propped on the toilet. It was cold, and uncomfortable, and whenever someone came in footsteps echoed, scaring him. 

He dreamed, in the half-waking daze exhaustion and anxiety had brought on. He seemed to be looking up at her face again, as she started to turn away, to walk toward the door. "_Mom, don't go... don't go..._" He was mumbling to himself, very quietly, half asleep, when he realized morning had come again. If she came back, she wouldn't see him, hidden in the men's room. He couldn't stay there. If she came back, she might think he had gone away. 

If she came back... He went back out to the waiting room, put his bag down, sat with his toy airplane in his lap, and stared at the door. 

On the old, worn couch in his living room, Eric blinked, trying to keep the sadness away, remembering how he had felt that night. That little boy had been so hurt, so scared... But he wasn't that child anymore. He was a big, strong, tough man now. A Guardian. A Ranger. He protected other people. Nothing could hurt him. He almost laughed. 

His phone rang, startling him. Eric cursed, but the distraction was a relief. Hoping his voice was steady, he answered. 

"Hello." 

_"Hey. I've got some news."_

"Go ahead, Wes." 

_"We may know who else was involved with your... the murder."_

"Who?" 

Caution came into Wes's voice. _"I don't want to say on the phone."_

"Well, when do I get to hear it?" 

Hesitation, then, _"Can you meet us at the stationhouse?"_

"Okay. When?" 

_"We're at my house. As soon as we can get there."_

"Okay. See you in a few minutes." 

He hung up, sighed, shrugged into his jacket again, and headed out. 

* * *

They trooped into the stationhouse, Wes following Jen and Jimmy through a familiar maze of corridors on the way to the small group of holding cells where Dennis Myers was being kept. None of them felt like talking. Accusing a fellow police officer was serious business. Wes knew it wouldn't help Jen, with her career or with the people she had to work with. It could make life very difficult for her and for Jimmy. He looked at her profile as they stood in the elevator, seeing her serious and determined expression. 

A sudden wave of affection took him off-guard. This was what he had always admired about Jen, a large part of the reason he had fallen in love with her in the first place. Her dedication, her will to do the right thing, no matter how difficult, or what kind of sacrifice it required. 

With a twinge of shame he remembered his anger at her, for moving out, and for questioning his father. For doing her job the best way she could. For the first time he realized how difficult this case must have been for her, how she must have struggled with it. Why she had felt it necessary to move out. 

He reached out to take her hand. She looked at him, momentary surprise in her face, melting into a smile as she squeezed his fingers. He smiled back, silently mouthing _'I love you,'_ seeing her smile brighten. No matter what happened, he and Jen would survive this intact. 

A minute's walk from the elevator took them to the cell where Dennis Myers should have been. They all stopped and stood for a stunned moment. 

"Where the hell is he?" Jimmy muttered. The cell was empty. 

* * *

Eric started up the stationhouse steps. There were the usual few cops coming in and out, a couple of them talking in front of the door. He also saw a completely unexpected sight, his father, hands cuffed behind his back, standing with Frank Kelly next to a car. He watched them as they appeared to be arguing. Then he walked over as Kelly pushed Myers into the back of the car and closed the door. 

"What's up? Where are you taking him?" 

Kelly jumped slightly and turned to look at him. For a second he stared, then smiled. "Thought I'd take him back to the scene. I have a few ideas to shake him up." 

Eric frowned. "You're taking him by yourself? No escort?" 

"I'm -- I'm waiting for a couple of uniforms. But I don't think he'll be any trouble." 

Eric looked at his father's face. It seemed frightened, behind the window glass. He looked away, uncomfortably. 

"If you wait a few minutes, I can go along." 

"I want to get going. And -- I think it'll go better without you there. No offense." 

Eric was tempted to insist, but he wanted to hear what Wes had to say. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "Good luck." 

Kelly smiled. "Thanks." 

Eric started up the steps again and went inside. He spent a few minutes looking for his friends before deciding to ask the duty officer if they were there yet. 

* * *

"What do you mean, Frank took him? You didn't ask Jimmy or me? It's our case!" Jen demanded. 

"Take it easy, Jen. It's not his fault," Wes said quietly. 

Jen frowned but said nothing more. Wes was right. The officer who had released Myers into Frank's custody had no way of knowing. They had wasted enough time on finding someone to tell them what had happened. Arguing would only delay them more. She turned away. 

"We must have just missed them, maybe passed them in the elevator. We have to find them fast," she said. 

"We can check the interrogation rooms first. That's where Frank said he was taking him." Jimmy looked almost as upset as Jen felt. "Hopefully he just wanted to talk to him." 

Wes and Jen exchanged a glance. "Hopefully," she muttered. "But I wouldn't count on it." 

The ride back up in the elevator seemed to take forever. They were all silent again, but the atmosphere was even tenser now. The first thing she saw when the doors opened was Eric, talking to the duty officer. He turned, saw them, and met them halfway. 

"Wes!" he said. "What's up?" 

"Come on." They all headed for the interrogation rooms. Jen heard Wes explaining the situation to Eric as they walked behind her. A moment later she heard Eric curse. 

"Shit! Frank Kelly? Goddamn it, I just saw him taking my father away!" 

* * *

Wes stood on the stationhouse steps, raising his morpher, Jen at his side doing the same thing. A few steps away, Eric trailed a stream of muttered curses as he stepped forward to join them and lifted his own morpher to his face. With three bursts of sparkling light, they transformed into the Red, Pink, and Quantum Rangers. All three used their morphers again to summon their flyers. Wes and Jen still had the flyers she had brought from the future when she had come to stay. While Eric had one too, he rarely used it, preferring the TF Eagle which had come with his morpher. 

Moments later they were all on their way, lifting into the night sky over the lights of downtown Silver Hills. Eric had described the car Frank was using, and they would try to spot it from the air. Eric's flyer left them rapidly; he was going to check the Wells hotel, on the chance that Frank had told him the truth. Wes and Jen began to circle, separating to cover as much ground as possible. 

Wes raised his morpher again as it bleeped. "Yes." 

_"Wes."_ It was Jen's voice. _"You've known Frank longer than I have. What do you think's going on? What's he think he's going to do with Myers?" _

"I wish I knew. Myers was afraid, obviously of Frank. That's why he wouldn't talk, why he didn't feel safe in custody." 

_"I guess he was right." _

"Yeah. Damn. If he knows something about Frank... If only he had told us!" 

_"Would any of us have believed him?" _

Wes sighed. "Probably not." 

_"If Frank killed Pamela -- maybe now he's trying to eliminate a witness." _

"We have to find them. Fast." 

* * *

Eric swooped over the hotel. From the air he could almost see what it must have looked like in better times, until he got low enough to see the dirt. This was the last place his mother had seen. A crummy hotel room... It struck him that her whole life had been a waste, nothing but sadness and futility. Now she was gone, and he was all that was left of her. _Not much of a legacy, Mom,_ he thought bitterly. 

His mind came back with a jolt as he circled the building. He saw Kelly's car, or one that looked just like it. It took him only a few seconds to find a landing spot. Close up, he was sure it was the right car. He ran toward the hotel door. 

Eric had almost forgotten he was morphed, for a moment he was startled as passing hotel guests gaped in alarm and jumped to get out of his way. Admittedly, a Power Ranger dashing through the room must not be an everyday sight for them. At least the reaction was useful; he got a clerk's attention immediately. 

"Did a cop come in here, with a prisoner?" he demanded. 

"A cop?" 

"He's in plainclothes -- two men, one of them in handcuffs." 

"I don't know -- two men came in a few minutes ago." 

Eric turned away. There was no time to wait for the elevator. He charged up the stairs. A breathless three flights later, he was in the hallway, slower now, listening for any sounds. The floor had been closed off for the duration of the investigation, he was grateful for the fact that there were no innocent bystanders to worry about. 

Voices. He moved, slowly, up to the room where the body had been found, and flattened against the wall, listening. He could hear them clearly now, Kelly's voice steady, his father's quivering with fear. 

"Why did you bring me here, Frank? You said you were going to let me go." 

"Sure I am. You can leave any time you want." 

"Well -- put the gun down first." 

"Don't you trust me, Dennis?" 

"You killed her, didn't you?" 

"You're such an idiot. You would have left her alive. What do you think she would have said? She would have told the police everything." 

"No -- she never saw your face. Didn't know who you were. You didn't need to do it." 

"Go on. Leave. Just turn around and walk out that door." 

"Frank..." 

"Go on!" 

Eric spun into the doorway, crouching, blaster out and ready. He froze. The room was only half-lit by one small lamp on a night table. Frank Kelly was standing in the middle of the floor, holding a gun, his shadow stretching in front of him. Dennis Myers was standing between them, his handcuffs gone, turning to look, his face frightened. Eric couldn't fire without hitting him. He hesitated. Kelly took his opportunity and jumped a few feet, behind a tall television cabinet, where Eric couldn't get a clear shot at him. He still had his gun aimed directly at Myers. 

"Drop the gun, Frank," Eric said. 

"He's trying to escape!" Kelly exclaimed. "I think he's armed!" 

"No," Myers said, his voice shaking. "I give up. Take me back to jail." 

"He's not trying to escape. He's scared stiff." Eric moved forward a step. "Get behind me, Dad." 

"Hold it!" Kelly's voice was harsh. "You're only going to let him get away. Don't move or I'll shoot." 

Myers stayed where he was and looked at Eric, his face pale. "Help me. Please..." 

"Stop this, Frank. We know about your father. We've got your prints here and in the other room. It's over." 

"What are you talking about? Of course you found my prints. I was here, doing my job, God damn it." 

"You're not that careless. You were here, but not on the job." 

"That's bullshit!" 

"You brought my father here to kill him, didn't you? What did you do? Tell him you were going to let him go? That you'd kill him if he asked me for help?" 

"No. That's a lie." 

"Were you going to pretend he tried to escape, and you were forced to shoot him?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"You were behind this whole thing. You killed my mother!" 

"No! You're crazy!" 

"We know about your father and Wes's dad. Your prints were here. What do you want to bet the other DNA from her fingernails turns out to be yours?" 

"So smart. All of you." Kelly's voice had turned hard and biting. "All right. I'll give you a choice. Demorph, and let me go, or I'll shoot your father." 

"Don't, he'll just kill both of us," Myers said softly as Eric hesitated. 

"Trust me." Eric raised his morpher. "Power down," he said. 

It happened so fast, later Eric only remembered it as a blur. The flash of light burst around him as he demorphed. He was prepared and closed his eyes just long enough not to be blinded. In the darkened room, Kelly was dazzled for a moment, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. 

"Get down!" Eric shouted as he threw himself forward into a neat roll across the stained carpet, recovering to his feet in front of his father, leaping forward at Kelly, wishing he had his Guardian blaster, grabbing Kelly's wrist as the gun went off, the flash and roar of the shot assaulting his eyes and ears. He twisted Kelly's arm, kicked his legs out from under him, and yanked the gun out of his hand. Kelly rolled away and back to his feet, scrambling for the door. 

Eric went after him and almost fell over Myers, lying on the floor, moaning, clutching at his chest, blood staining the prison shirt and flowing between his fingers. Kelly disappeared into the hallway. Eric stopped, torn, but the sound of his father groaning pulled him back. 

"Dad? How bad are you hit?" 

"Don't know..." The voice was so weak, the face so pitiful, so completely different from the angry face and shouting voice he remembered. 

Eric knelt next to him and checked the wound. "Hang on. I'm calling for help." He raised his morpher and reached for his cell phone with the other hand. 

* * *

_"He ran out a few seconds ago."_ Eric's voice came over Jen's morpher. He was talking to both her and Wes, his voice hurried and distracted. 

_"We're on our way,"_ Wes's voice said. 

_"I've got 911 on the phone. Gotta go."_

"Okay, we'll take it from here," Jen said. 

_"Good luck with your dad,"_ Wes added. _"Jen,"_ he continued. _"Meet you at the hotel. We can circle again to find him."_

"Okay." She banked sharply, speeding toward downtown. Her eyes, vision enhanced by the sensors in her helmet, swept the streets. She saw it just before the hotel came into view. 

"Wes? I think I see the car. Going south, out of town. You keep on looking, I'll check it out." 

_"Got it. Be careful."_

Jen smiled. Just like Wes to warn her to be careful, against an enemy who had almost no chance of hurting her. She followed the car, which was speeding toward the highway. Flying lower and closer, she swept down next to it. A glance showed her it was Frank, swerving slightly as he saw the flyer so near. 

"Wes. It's him. We're still heading out of town." 

_"On my way."_

They went on, Jen lifting a little higher as Frank sped up, trying to outrun her. She flew directly above him, tensely watching him weave in and out of other cars. To her relief, he continued in the same direction, soon passing the Silver Hills city limits, and leaving most of the traffic behind. She looked up as another flyer appeared in the sky. Wes swiftly caught up and they pursued the car together, flanking it on either side. 

In a few minutes they were on an almost empty stretch of highway. This was their chance. She flew lower, dipping down to ground level as she initiated the transformation from flyer to vectorcycle. The vehicle morphed around her, wings disappearing, wheels forming, body warping, touching down smoothly with no loss of speed. In moments she was driving, gaining on the car, then pulling alongside. He saw her, his face shocked before he sped up, trying to outrun her. 

Glancing up, she saw Wes's flyer descend directly over the car, matching its speed. There was a flash of red as Wes climbed out, balanced for a moment on the wing, and then jumped onto the roof of the car. Frank obviously heard him, he glanced up, face contorting with anger, and began to swerve violently, trying to shake off his unwanted passenger. 

Jen fell back as he almost hit her, heart speeding as she watched Wes cling to the top of the car. It swerved again, coming close to running off the road. Wes held on, and pulled himself toward the driver's door, reaching down toward the handle, almost sliding off as Frank veered hard. Wes drove his fist through the door's window glass. 

Jen pulled up next to the car again, pacing it. They were on a straight length of highway with no other cars. She moved closer as Wes reached down again and yanked the car door open, then grabbed Frank's arm, holding on as he tried to twist free. She saw Wes look at her and nodded. He pulled Frank up and out of the seat, momentarily holding him half suspended over the highway. Jen moved in and grabbed him around the waist, carrying him away as she saw Wes swing himself through the car's doorway and into the seat, barely getting control in time to keep it on the roadway. 

They both slowed rapidly. Jen dropped Kelly on the pavement as they came to a stop. In another moment Wes had joined her. 

"Sorry, Frank," Wes said, his voice regretful. He pulled him up. 

Jen dismounted and stepped over to face him. "Frank Kelly. You're under arrest." 

* * *


	11. Confession

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review, I love to hear from you. 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Confession

* * *

It was morning after a long and eventful night. Wes finished his cup of coffee and wished he had another. He and Jen had brought Kelly in, dealt with the firestorm that their arrest of a SHPD detective had caused, then visited the hospital to check on Eric and Dennis Myers. There had been time for only a few hours of sleep after that. 

He smiled, just a little, remembering. Without a word being said, Jen had gone back to the house with him. Together they had waked up his father and told him what had happened, that he was no longer under any suspicion. Then they had gone to Wes's room, again not needing words. They were in each other's arms almost before the door had closed. She had stayed there for the night, for the first time in much too long. That had cost them some more sleep, but it was worth it. He caught Jen's eye, and shared the smile with her. 

Now they were back in the same interrogation room they had used with Myers, but this time it was Frank Kelly being questioned. Jimmy was facing him, Jen in a chair at the table. Wes was standing on the other side of the room, watching. Kelly looked exhausted, miserable, and dazed, perhaps by the abrupt transition from cop to criminal. Wes almost felt sorry for him. Almost. 

Jimmy was leaning on the table, staring at Kelly intensely. "Why don't you just tell us about it, Frank?" he asked. 

"I didn't do anything." 

"The evidence says you did." 

"Those fingerprints? They don't prove anything." 

"We'll be getting the DNA analysis soon. We found scratch marks on your arms. The blood from under Pamela's nails will match yours, won't it?" 

"No." 

"We'll see soon enough. Why did you take Myers to the hotel? You were going to kill him, weren't you?" 

"No!" 

"I hear he's going to live. I think he'll be a mood to talk." 

Kelly looked up, his face pinched. "How long have we known each other, Jimmy? Do you really think I did this?" 

Jimmy's face showed pain, just for an instant. "It doesn't really matter what I think. What matters is the evidence. That's what will matter to a jury." He sighed. "Make it easy on yourself, Frank. They say confession is good for the soul. And I have the feeling your soul needs all the help it can get." 

* * *

Eric sat in the hospital room, letting himself doze, the exhaustion of a night with only a few minutes of sleep snatched here and there in a chair finally hitting him. A sound from the hallway brought him awake, to look again at his father, still lying there unmoving and unchanged. 

So strange, to see him like this, to actually hope for him to live and recover. Eric wondered why he was even here, why he had spent the night waiting in a hospital room, watching over a man he still hated. Seeing Myers now as a human being was disturbing. He was still a bum, still the same monster who had spent years beating a young child. But -- he had asked for justice. Eric would make sure he got it. And he wanted answers, for Alan Collins, for his mother, and for himself. 

It was quiet again, so quiet that his thoughts began to drift. Gaby. He hadn't been fair to her. Maybe she hadn't been fair, either, maybe she had given up on him, just like his mother. Or maybe she had just been hurt and angry at the moment. When this was over, he would have to try to deal with that situation, see if they could patch it up. He felt suddenly alone, abandoned again, sitting in that stark, impersonal room, like the waiting room in the bus station where he had spent two days, waiting, sleeping in a chair, watching for his mother. He had been tired then, too, and waiting -- like now -- waiting... 

Eric had known it was over on the second morning he spent in the bus station. Only a few minutes after he had come out of the bathroom, the ticket agent was looking at him again. Half an hour later, they came. Two policemen, and a woman in regular clothes. They looked at him, their expressions of sympathy and concern making him squirm, then they went in the back. He could hear voices, hear them talking to the ticket agent. He knew they were here for him, to take him away where his mother would never find him, to put him in an orphanage. 

In desperation, he hid in the men's room again, climbing onto the toilet in one of the stalls so they couldn't see his feet. Of course, it didn't work. The two policemen followed him in, and walked in front of the stalls, looking through the cracks between the doors and the partitions. They stopped in front of his stall, and whispered. Then one of them went back to the bathroom door while the other one stayed, and talked to him. 

"We know you're in there, son. Might as well come out." 

"No! I don't want to." 

"Look, you can't spend the rest of your life in there. Why not come out?" 

"No!" 

His voice became sympathetic. "How long have you been here, in the bus station?" 

"Don't know." Eric heard his own voice trembling. He forced himself not to cry. 

"The ticket agent said you've been here for two days." 

"Don't know." 

"Where are your parents? Who left you here?" 

"My mom's coming back!" 

He heard the whisper of a sigh, then footsteps as the policeman walked over to talk softly to his partner. They opened the bathroom door and he could hear the woman's voice, too. 

_"Poor kid. His mother left him here." _

"Maybe something happened to her?" 

"We've got no reports of accidents, no missing women, no bodies. And why would she leave the station with her son here? I think she just took off." 

"Well, we've got to get him out of here. I'll take charge of him." 

"What's going to happen to him?" 

"We'll try to find his mother. If we can't, or if she's unfit, he'll probably go into foster care." 

"What a shame." 

"Jesus. How any mother could do that..." 

The footsteps came back, and the voice spoke again. "What's your name, son?" 

"Eric." 

"Eric. You have to come out. We want to help." 

"I'm fine! I said my mom's coming back!" 

"I don't think she is. I'm sorry." 

"Nooo..." 

The voice spoke again, so much compassion in it that Eric felt the tears sting again. "Son... Eric... I know you're hurting. But you've got to be brave, and face it. She's not coming back. I know you feel like you're all alone now, but all of us are here to help you. Come on out and let us do it." 

With a final, crushing sense of defeat, Eric knew he was right, knew it was over, that there was no more hope. She had left him, she had never meant to come back. His life as he had known it was gone forever. 

"Okay. In a minute," he said, his voice shaking again. He knew they could tell he was crying. He let it happen for a few minutes, sobbing as silently as he could, resolving that it would be the last time he cried for anyone. When it eased up he got to his feet, wiped his face, blew his nose, and finally opened the door. 

They were standing there, looking at him, their faces filled with pity. They felt sorry for him because they knew his mother had left him there, had just thrown him away like a useless piece of trash. But someday he'd show them, he'd prove that he was worth something, prove it to them, and everyone, and himself. 

_When I grow up, I'm not going to let anyone look at me like that, ever again. Someday I'm going to be so big, and so strong, and have so much money that nothing can ever hurt me again, and no one will ever feel sorry for me..._

He met their eyes, lifting his chin defiantly, seeing a hint of respect come into their expressions as he walked out. 

The tears came again as Eric sat in a quiet hospital room, twenty years later. He let them come, this time, letting himself cry for that hurt little boy and the damaged man he had become, painfully feeling a little of the knot inside him loosen. 

* * *

"Frank, we've got the prints. We've got the DNA. We've got your attempt to eliminate Dennis Myers, and the fact that you ran. Soon we'll have Myers' testimony. It's all over. You might as well tell us what happened." 

Kelly stared at all of them, as if looking for a way out. Then he smiled, bitterly, his eyes fastening on Wes. "It was your _father's_ fault. If he hadn't killed my father, none of this would have happened." 

"My dad didn't kill anyone!" 

"Same thing. He ruined my father's life. Forced him to kill himself." 

"That was _his_ choice. He brought all of it on himself." 

Jimmy interrupted quietly. "Wes, it's okay. We'll handle this." 

Jen turned back to Kelly. "Go on. Tell us about it. How did you hook up with Dennis Myers?" 

Kelly's face was resigned now, defeated. "I met him in San Francisco. I was on vacation. It was at a bar. I didn't know he was related to Eric Myers, or that Collins might recognize him. I thought he could be useful..." 

"Useful for what?" 

"I wanted to ruin Collins, like he ruined my father." He looked up. "I swear, I didn't mean for anyone to die. All I wanted was to embarrass him. Make him look bad. Screw up the deal Bio-Lab was trying to make with Atkinson Labs. That was the plan." 

"What were you going to do?" 

"Dennis said he could get a hooker who'd keep her mouth shut. That's why Pamela was involved. We were going to use one of her girls. Pamela was supposed to send her, she wasn't supposed to come herself." He gave a slight, barking laugh. "We were going to arrange for the great Alan Collins to be found in a dump hotel room, drunk, with a teenaged prostitute. Dennis and I would disappear; the hooker would say Collins had picked her up. He would never have been able to explain it." 

"So what went wrong?" Jimmy asked softly. 

"Pamela went wrong. She never sent anyone. She showed up herself, in Dennis's room." 

* * *

"Eric..." 

The voice called him, so soft it seemed almost like part of a dream until he woke completely from the half-sleeping daze he had fallen into. Eric sat up, disoriented for a moment, and then saw his father watching him from the bed. He stared back for a few seconds. Myers was looking weak and pale, but alert, and smiling hesitantly. 

"How do you feel?" Eric asked. 

"Okay, I guess. Alive." 

"Good." Eric stood up briefly to stretch his cramped muscles. 

"Did you get Frank?" 

"Yeah. My friends got him." 

There was a short silence before Myers' voice came again. "You risked your life to save me." 

"I didn't do it for you." 

Myers looked away uncomfortably. "Well -- thanks anyway." 

Eric sat silently again for a while. Then he looked up. "How about telling me the truth, about how Mom died? I think you owe me that much." 

"Make a confession?" 

"This is just between us. But if Frank did it, I hope you'll testify against him. Mom deserves justice, too." 

Myers thought about it for a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and resigned. "I guess she does. I'll tell you what happened. And I'll testify. Keep that bastard behind bars, where he belongs." 

"Okay. Good. Tell me what happened. Why did you come to Silver Hills?" 

"Frank hired me. He had a plan. He hates Alan Collins -- your boss. Something he did to Frank's father. He wanted to get revenge, hurt Collins, and hurt Bio-Lab. There was some big business deal coming up, with Atkinson Labs..." 

"Yeah. We've been trying to acquire them. Now the deal's in trouble." 

"That was the plan. Make Collins look bad, so Atkinson would back out. Ruin Collins' reputation, maybe even force him to step down as CEO." 

"Go on." 

"It was all Frank's idea... I called Collins, set up a meeting with him at the bar. I stalled him along. He had a cup of coffee. I slipped a drug into it." 

"Rohypnol?" 

"Whatever. I don't know. Anyway it really put him out. He was kind of dazed -- I got him a scotch and poured it into him. We had rented another room, under a fake name, and I brought Collins up to it. He could barely walk. I took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, and left him on the bed, passed out. 

"Then I went back to my room. I had rented it under another fake name. Ralph White. I used that a lot, your mother was Lily White and I was Ralph -- anyway, the girl was supposed to be there. Pammy -- your mother -- was supposed to send one of her girls. That was the plan, Collins would get found drunk and passed out, with a hooker. We were going to call the papers and TV stations -- get pictures." 

"Jesus." 

"Pammy was there, in my room, instead. She changed her mind. Didn't want to do it. She came here to stop us. We started to argue. I got so mad... Frank was paying me a lot of money, and that -- she was going to screw it up, just throw it all away..." 

"What happened?" 

"We had a fight. We were both yelling... she was calling me names..." He paused, agitated, his eyes on Eric's face. "I didn't mean to hurt her." 

"You hit her, didn't you?" 

"I just slapped her a couple of times. She hit me back. I -- I lost it -- grabbed her, tore her shirt. Then -- I hit her again, with my fist. She fell back -- fell down -- hit her head on the dresser. Then she just lay there, moaning a little." He closed his eyes. "God, it was terrible. Blood all over." 

* * *

Frank went on, his voice dull. "Everything was set up. Dennis had gotten Collins to the hotel, drugged him, gotten him into the room. Everything was perfect. Then _she_ showed up. She didn't want to go through with it." 

"What did you do?" 

"When I got to Dennis's room, they had had a fight. He said she fell, hit her head. She was lying there, bleeding, unconscious. I had to think of something to do. And it had to be fast." 

* * *

"Eric, I swear I didn't mean to hurt her. Not like that. It was an accident." 

"Yeah. Just like all the times you hit me." 

"If it means anything, I'm sorry." 

"Just go on." 

"Frank showed up then, while I was trying to wake her up. He -- he was angry. Said she was going to ruin everything. He said there was still something we could do, we could still use the plan, just make a change. 

"We took your mother into the room with Collins. Put her down on the floor. She was sort of half-conscious. We figured she wouldn't move for a little while. We cleaned up our fingerprints the best we could, and Frank told me to get my stuff and get out of the hotel. He said I should call 911, say I heard them fighting, so they'd catch Collins with her and think he hit her. Then I was supposed to get lost. Disappear." 

"She was hurt. It didn't occur to you to get help for her?" 

"I called 911." 

"You didn't tell them she was hurt. And you waited until after you went back to your room and got your things. After you got outside the hotel." 

Myers looked away uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know. I should have called right away. But Frank insisted... he said she'd be all right." 

"What happened then? How'd she end up dead?" 

"Like I said, I left, and called for help. She was alive the last time I saw her. I swear. When I saw on the news that she was dead -- strangled -- I knew Frank must have killed her." 

* * *

"Go on, Frank. Tell us how she died." 

"You see -- I had to finish the plan. There was a problem, but I knew how to get around it. How to make it work. I scratched Collins myself, with a nail file, and dabbed his blood under her nails. Then..." He stopped, clenching his hands together. 

"Might as well tell us everything." 

"I couldn't let her tell the truth. Everyone would have known Collins was set up. Couldn't let her ruin everything. That _bitch_ -- she had no right to change her mind like that, after I spent so much time -- did so much planning..." 

"What did you do?" 

"I had to do it. You can see that, can't you? I had to kill her. Had no choice. She was awake enough to fight -- she scratched my arms. When she was -- was gone, I got out of there." 

"So your plan worked. Almost." 

"Yeah. Almost." He grimaced fiercely, his eyes glittering. "It would have been even better than my original idea -- Collins suspected of murder -- maybe even convicted -- if only..." His face twisted in anger. "If Dennis had just disappeared, like he was supposed to, instead of going to Eric -- if Collins hadn't recognized him -- all you would have had is a couple of fingerprints and some unidentified DNA. It would have worked." 

* * *

"Why didn't you get out of town, like Frank said?" 

"He was supposed to pay me. I was broke. Needed that money to leave town. After he killed Pammy I was afraid to call him and ask for money. So I came to you." 

"Didn't you want to get him for killing Mom? She was your wife. Didn't you feel anything for her?" 

"I was scared. The cops wouldn't listen to me, not against another cop. Frank would have killed me. Maybe it was wrong, but I figured there was nothing I could do." 

"Why did you come to me? Didn't you know I'd take you right to the police?" 

There was silence for a few seconds. "I don't know. Maybe I thought you'd protect me from them. Maybe I knew you'd find out the truth, somehow. I just don't know." 

"One more question. Why did my mother change her mind? Why did she back out of the plan?" 

Myers looked up at him, that hesitant smile appearing again. "She had kept track of you. She knew you were working for Bio-Lab. She was afraid that you might get connected somehow with this whole thing -- might get blamed, if anyone found out _we_ were involved. 

"Even if that didn't happen, she knew somehow that you're close to the Collins family. She figured you'd be hurt, because your boss and your friend would get hurt, and the company you worked for might be in trouble. She said we had done enough to you already. Said you had a good job and a good life, and she didn't want to mess it up. She did it for _you_." 

* * *


	12. Letting Go

Eric, Wes, Jen, Mr. Collins, Miller, and Dr. Zaskin belong to Disney/Saban. I am using them without permission, but I am not and do not expect to make money from this.  
Gaby, Jimmy Duran, Frank Kelly, Gunn, Kane, Quinn, Pamela, and Dennis Myers are mine. 

Rated PG-13 : Harsh language; strong sexuality; violence; mature themes including child abuse and prostitution. 

Please review, I need positive reinforcement. 

The end of another story. Always a bit of a letdown, but it also means on to the next one, which will be mostly about Alex. I'd like to thank my beta readers, Jenny and Cecelia, and all who have read and reviewed. In particular, (in alphabetical order) Dagmar for her continued encouragement and great writing, MrQuinn for being my #1 fan (and his terrifically entertaining stories), Rach for her great reviews and greater TF stories, also Sierra, SilverRider, Ibonekoen, ScarletDeva, lil smiles, Shadowlancer, Lucid Lady, fan, and everyone else! 

If anyone is interested in reading the author's notes for this story, they're on my website on the page for this story. (ff.net won't let me give the URL.) 

Sins of the Fathers

* * *

* * *

Letting Go

* * *

Wes looked around the living room of the Collins house with a smile. It seemed like old times, a group of his friends and co-workers standing or sitting around, his father handing out drinks at the bar, music playing softly in the background. Jen had moved back in, Eric was almost back to his normal self. All seemed right with the world, for the moment. 

Of course, this occasion was supposed to be serious, if not sad. Pamela Myers' body had been released form the morgue a few days ago, and Eric had had her cremated. This afternoon they had all gone out to the beach north of Silver Hills, the same spot where Jen, Lucas, Katie, and Trip had landed over two years ago. Eric had scattered her ashes on the water. 

Then they had come here, for a sort of memorial gathering. Of course, none of them had known the deceased, except Eric. Maybe he hadn't really known her either. Wes had been concerned about his reaction to the ceremony, but he seemed to be fine, genuinely fine this time, just quiet. Understandable, under the circumstances. 

Eric had asked him to invite Gaby. Steve Miller, Michael Zaskin of course, William Kane, Daryl Gunn, and Jimmy Duran were also here. It was a small group. Just right. He drifted to the bar, and sat on a stool. 

"How's the booze holding out, Dad?" 

"Not that much demand. I guess people don't feel much like drinking." 

"Yeah, I guess." 

Collins leaned on the bar. After a short silence he spoke quietly. "I brought all of this on, didn't I?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I forced John Kelly out. Ruined him. Frank was right that I have some responsibility for his death." 

"Come on. Don't blame yourself. You did what you had to do. The company would have gone down if you hadn't done it, and Kelly would have been ruined anyway. And so would you." 

"I suppose that's true." Collins sighed. "We all make decisions in life. Sometimes they have results we don't want, or plan. But we still have to take responsibility for the consequences." 

"John Kelly has to take responsibility for what he did, too. And so does Frank. No one forced him to commit a murder. He could have walked away. If he hadn't decided he wanted revenge, he'd still be free, still have a good life. And Pamela Myers would still be alive." 

Movement caught Wes's eye, and he looked up to see Michael Zaskin approach. He smiled in greeting. 

"Very nice -- um -- gathering," Zaskin said. "Not really a party, of course." 

"Of course. Want a drink?" Collins asked. 

"No, thanks. Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Atkinson deal." 

"Looks like it's going ahead. They're satisfied that I live up to their high moral standards, so they've dropped their objections." His face creased into a smile as he looked back at Wes. "They're even willing to overlook the fact that you and Jen are living in sin." His expression turned into a frown. "Wish I didn't have to do business with those self-righteous bastards, but…" 

"Gotta do what you've gotta do, huh, Dad?" 

"Right." Collins grinned. "As for living up to their standards -- if they only knew..." 

"Knew what?" 

"I went to college in the sixties, you know. And your generation didn't invent sex." 

"Huh. And I guess yours did." Collins just laughed as Wes gave him a skeptical glance, sure he was joking. Almost sure. "Anyway, I'd better mingle," he went on. "See you." 

Gaby was waiting for him. She cornered him as he began to make his way around the room. He knew what she was going to say by the expression on her face. 

"Did Eric even know I was coming?" she demanded. 

"Sure. He wanted you to come. Asked me to invite you." 

"He did? But he's hardly said a word to me!" 

"I'm sure he will." 

She glared at Eric across the room. "Am I supposed to just wait for him to get around to me?" 

"_You_ could always talk to _him_." 

"He's the one who said it's over. I don't know if he even wants to get back together. It's up to him to do something now." 

"He _was_ under a lot of stress. This hasn't been easy for him." 

"I know." She sighed, looking at Eric again. Wes saw him look back, and then away. 

"Maybe he's wondering how _you_ feel about it. Maybe he's afraid you'll say no," Wes said gently. 

"Eric Myers? Hard to imagine him afraid of anything." 

"Different people are afraid of different things. Eric's had a lot of rejection in his life. I think he sort of expects it." 

"I guess." She smiled. "Sometimes I wonder how guys do it. Usually having to be the one who makes the first move." She sighed. "But -- I tried so hard to help him, and he pushed me away. I have feelings too. I need to know if he cares enough to make the effort." 

"Okay, I understand," Wes said with a smile. "Well -- are you having a good time?" 

She smiled ironically. "This is a memorial, isn't it? We're not supposed to have a good time." 

"Somehow I'm finding it hard to be sad, when my father's been cleared and... other things have turned out okay. Not very respectful of the dead, but..." 

"I know what you mean." Her face became thoughtful. "What's going to happen to Eric's father now?" 

"He's pleading guilty to assault and a few other charges. He'll spend a few years in jail." 

"I wonder what he'll do when he gets out. If he'll try to live a better life." 

"Maybe. Maybe I'm cynical, but I kind of doubt it." 

"And Frank Kelly?" 

"He'll be in jail for a lot longer." 

"It's a shame, really. He tried to destroy your father and ending up destroying himself." 

"Yeah. I guess I could say something philosophical about the futility of revenge. But I won't." 

They both turned as Kane and Gunn joined them. Wes saw they were wearing their jackets, and realized how late it was getting. A glance at the windows showed him a sky lit by sunset, the soft light outside dimming into evening. 

"Thought we'd say goodnight," Gunn said. "We're about to get going." 

"Well, thanks for coming. I'm sure Eric appreciates it." 

"Glad to do it." 

Kane took a last look around and smiled. "You have a beautiful house here. Thanks for inviting me." 

"I'm sure you'll be back, hopefully for a happier occasion. See you." After a round of handshakes, they were gone. 

"Maybe I should go, too," Gaby said. 

"Hang out for a while. Give Eric a chance to talk to you alone." 

"You really think he wants to?" 

Wes smiled and laid a hand briefly on her shoulder. "I'm sure he does." 

* * *

"I guess the party's over," Jen said. 

Eric smiled perfunctorily. Wes and Jen were the only ones still sitting with him in that big living room. Mr. Collins was sitting at the bar, quietly talking with Zaskin. Gaby had gone out to the small balcony overlooking the garden. The others had left, all of them coming to him to say a few words of sympathy first. He hardly knew how to respond, except to thank them and shake hands. He still didn't really know how he felt, or even how he should feel. 

"How are you doing?" Wes asked, seeming to read his mind. 

"Honestly? I don't know." 

"Just as long as you don't insist you're fine." 

"I'm… better." He gazed across the room for a few moments. "I never thought she cared about me at all. But she knew where I work, what I was doing, even who my friends are. She didn't want to let me get hurt. A lifetime of thinking about her that way -- that she never cared -- and now it's all different." 

"I'm glad you found out." 

"So am I." He hesitated and added softly, "She died trying to protect me." 

"Don't you dare start feeling guilty," Jen said. 

"I don't, not really. Maybe it's selfish, but... it feels good, that she was finally willing to stand up to my dad for me." 

"I don't think it's selfish at all." 

"I wish I'd known this while she was still alive. Maybe I could have helped her." 

"Are you going to keep in touch with your father now? When he gets out of jail?" Wes asked. 

Eric grinned and shrugged. "Not if I can help it." 

Wes smiled in return. "I guess all of this worked out pretty well." 

"I don't know. It was pretty rough on you two, and your father." 

"We've survived," Jen said, with a smile at Wes, taking his hand. 

"I can see that." Eric turned his head to watch Gaby, standing with her back to them. "It was rough on Gaby, too." 

"Why don't you talk to her?" Jen asked. 

"Did she say anything about me, when you were talking before?" 

"Yes," Wes said with a grin. 

"Well? What did she say? You think she wants to get back together?"

"She's here, isn't she? That should tell you something." He sat back and dropped an arm around Jen's shoulders. "Eric -- I'm not going to do _everything_ for you. You've never had much of a problem going after what you want. Just go talk to her." 

"Yeah. But getting control of the Q-Rex was easy compared to _this_." As he watched her, Gaby turned to look in their direction, met his eyes, and smiled. Eric got up. He stopped long enough to look back at Wes and Jen. "Thanks, both of you," he said. "You've been good friends through this whole lousy thing. I know I didn't act very grateful, but I am." He turned away from their surprised faces and walked to the glass doors leading to the balcony. With only a slight pause, he opened them and went through. 

* * *

"Turned out well, didn't it?" Jen said. 

"Yeah, it did. Everything turned out pretty well, considering." Wes turned to smile at her. "How's it going at work? Have they forgiven you and Jimmy yet?" 

"Most of them." Jen smiled ruefully. "Of course, some cops will never forgive someone who blew the whistle on one of their own. But even they have to admit a murderer doesn't deserve their loyalty. And we broke the case, that's what counts in the long run. It'll work out." 

"Your first big case. It wasn't easy." 

"No, it wasn't. But -- Jimmy gave me credit for identifying Frank as the killer. Lieutenant Quinn is very impressed. It wasn't a bad start to my career as a detective." 

"You deserve credit. You spotted the clues, and followed up. You went after the truth, and you didn't give up, in spite of -- all the problems involved. Including _me_." Wes lifted her hand, playing with her fingers before interlacing them with his own. 

"I'm glad you've forgiven me for moving out." 

"I should have understood why you did it. And it just made me appreciate you more." 

Her face softened, before she leaned in and kissed him quickly. "That's for being so sweet about it," she murmured. 

"You know, speaking of living together, Dad says Atkinson disapproves of it. They think we're living in sin." 

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Should we care?" 

"Well -- I thought we should do something about it." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know," he said with a grin. "Make it legal. Make an honest woman of you." When she just looked at him, he went on. "Sorry I don't have a ring, but I thought you'd like to pick it out yourself. We can look for it together. But if you want me to get one myself, I will..." He trailed off, realizing she was staring at him with an expression of surprise, puzzlement, and uncertainty. 

"Is this your way of proposing?" she asked. 

He looked at her with a bit of alarm. "Atkinson has nothing to do with it, if that's what you're thinking. I guess I just always assumed we'd get married, someday. Don't you feel the same way?" 

"Well -- that wasn't very romantic. You could at least ask properly." 

He grinned again. "I guess I should do it right." Making a sudden decision, he stood up and reached a hand to her. "Come on." 

"Where are we going?" 

"You'll see." 

Minutes later they were outside, in the soft night air, the dimming light of sunset surrounding them as the breeze stirred Jen's hair and rustled the leaves of the trees and bushes around them. Wes led the way to a stone bench in the garden in back of their house, overlooking the pool, with a view to the ocean beyond. 

"This is where we first kissed, remember?" he said. "First said we loved each other." 

"Yes. We thought we'd never be able to stay together then." 

"It's been a long time. Over a year apart. Now -- have I told you how much it means to me to have you here?" 

She raised a hand to caress his cheek. "It means just as much to me, to be here, with you." 

He grinned. "Um -- do you want me to get on one knee?" 

She smiled. "That's not necessary." 

He took her hands and looked into her eyes for a few moments, suddenly becoming serious. "I love you very much, Jen. I want us to spend our lives together. Will you marry me?" 

Her eyes were bright as she moved closer to kiss him again. Her arms went around his neck and Wes hugged her tightly, both of them just holding each other, content in the closeness and happiness of that moment. She answered softly, her cheek warm against his. "Of course. You didn't even need to ask." 

He chuckled into her ear before kissing it and running his hands over her back. "When do you think we should tell Dad? I feel like telling everyone." 

"Mmmm, let's wait a little while. Let's just stay here right now." 

"Okay." Wes glanced up at the balcony through a screen of branches, seeing Eric and Gaby obviously preoccupied with each other, before he turned his head to kiss Jen again. "I guess we can find something to do..." 

* * *

Gaby looked over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the view over the garden and pool. Eric took a few moments to look for himself as he joined her at the rail. It was lovely in the twilight, with a soft breeze stirring the bushes and the faint smell of the ocean reaching them. 

"I was hoping you'd come today," he said. 

She shrugged. "Least I could do, I guess." 

"I appreciate it." 

There was a silence before she spoke again. "How do you feel?" 

"Okay. For real this time." He smiled. "You were right, you know. My mother did care about me. She just didn't know how to show it. And I guess she couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of me all by herself. Maybe she panicked. Maybe she really thought I'd be better off without her." 

"Still, it was a terrible thing she did. Just leaving you like that." 

"Yeah. She made a lot of mistakes. A lot. And now -- she's paid for them." 

"Do you forgive her?" 

"You know -- I think I do." 

Gaby turned to face him with a smile. "That's good." 

"Yeah," Eric said thoughtfully. "I feel like I've been stuck in that bus station for twenty years, still waiting for her to come back. Twenty years of being convinced no one ever loved me, not even my mother. Twenty years of being mad at the world, and everyone in it. I've been angry for most of my life. No one should be angry like that." 

"Yeah. It's affected everything you do. Maybe you can start to let it go now." She turned back to the garden. "How about your father?" 

"He's a different story. Some things can't be forgiven. I still hate him. But -- I've faced him now, and he turned out to be just a man, not the monster I remembered. I feel a little better about him, too." 

"Good." 

Eric paused, watching as Wes and Jen walked out into the garden below them, and moved into the shadows under a large tree to sit on a stone bench. He took a deep breath. "I know I took some of this out on you. And since then I've been afraid to face you. I'm sorry I was such a jerk." 

He saw her grin. "You were. But I can understand why. I don't blame you. I just wish I could have helped." 

"You did. It made me feel worse at the time, but you made me think about it, made me face some things. It helped in the long run." 

"I'm glad." 

"Do you forgive me?" 

She was still smiling, with a hint of the old playfulness. "I probably shouldn't." 

"But do you?" 

"There's nothing to forgive." Her voice was serious now. "I should have been more patient." 

"Gaby..." Eric watched her face as she smiled at him again in the dusky light. "I know I'm hard to get along with. I have a temper, sometimes I don't think before I say something." He hesitated. "I'm not romantic, and I never will be. I may not ever say the things you want to hear, or do the things you want me to do. I can't promise to change." 

She was looking out at the garden again. "I don't want that kind of promise. I kind of like you the way you are." 

He watched her profile. "If you'll give it another chance, I'll do my best." 

Her voice was soft in the night air. "There _are_ people who love you, you know. Wes. Mr. Collins." She paused. "Me." 

She turned to him as he stepped toward her, raising a hand to touch her face, and then they were in each other's arms, and he was kissing her again as she held him close, the feel and warmth of her filling him, making him want never to let go. He hugged her tightly and pressed his face against her, breathing in the familiar smell of clean skin and hair. 

"What do you say we get out of here, go to your place, and get naked and sweaty as fast as possible?" he asked. 

He could feel her laughing. "And you say you're not romantic." 

* * *

*End*

* * *


End file.
